


Regress To His Mean

by Ovidae



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Action, Divergent, Eric - Freeform, F/M, Hate, Love, Rebellion, Romance, Teenagers, Violence, fourtris - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:11:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 116,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ovidae/pseuds/Ovidae
Summary: Christina and Eric meet each other and it's instant hate when he dangles her off of a railing in Dauntless. After a train ride and a confession, Christina began understanding Eric, his problems and pasts. Unwittingly, Christina becomes his sweetheart after she regressed to his mean. Eric/Christina.





	1. Beatdowns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BellumGerere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellumGerere/gifts).



> Summary: Christina and Eric meet each other and it's instant hate when he dangles her off of a railing in Dauntless. After a train ride and a confession, Christina began understanding Eric, his problems and pasts. Unwittingly, Christina becomes his sweetheart after she regressed to his mean. Eric/Christina. 
> 
> Pairings Throughout The Book:
> 
> Part 1: Divergent- Eric/Christina
> 
> Part 2: Insurgent- Past Eric/Christina, One-sided Christina/Peter
> 
> Part 3: Allegiant- Past Eric/Christina and Four/Christina
> 
> A/N- Soooo, this is something I wrote like 11 chapters for. The book 'Regress To His Mean' will have Christina as the main protagonist through the three Divergent books. Everything will go according to the series just with Christina/Eric on the down-low. Part 1 will be the Divergent book but in Christina's POV. Yeah. Enjoy.
> 
> And BellumGerere- thank you for opening my eyes to this crackship. You write beautifully and I wouldn't have known this ship without you. I won't have drugs in mine but I think I'll make Eric an alcoholic or something. He has substance (not only the drugs) and character developpement and I want to emulate you in this! Keep on rocking!

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 1-  
Beatdowns

* * *

This is my life now.

I look at the training center. There are black sand-filled punching bags, sounds of taped fists breaking the skin and the heavyweights. Dauntless-born and Dauntless-transferred move about, getting hurt in the wildest way.

We're all just sitting ducks in this place, aren't we? We do have to fight each other and it's hot... So we're all bloodied, bruised and roasted ducks on a silver platter for Eric.

Eric's body is tattooed. His semi-wavy hair is short and charcoal-colored. He got a haircut before this training session. I noticed this morning when he walked into the cafeteria. All conversations paused and the air didn't move.

He had something that made everyone else in the vicinity unnerved and insignificant. I hate the way he made me feel small and dominated. He didn't have fans anyway. He's too lost for therapy.

He was highlighted by taught muscles. His gray eyes offer no warmth, kind of like the turmoiled sky in the winter. He is lean and tall. His broad shoulders made him appear solid but it's the way he carries himself that makes me want to hide.

He's the perfect recipe for a disaster waiting to happen. He's already cold, calculating and his voice is frost at any moment. His scowl was infamous and his notorious temper was picked up on by us, the lowly initiates. He wanted to make life a living hell.

We're standing still. The training center is wide and darkened. The scent of sweat and iron reeks. Our shoes are off and the instructors glare at us. We're all surrounding the arena, anxiously waiting for our turns.

At the moment, Will and Al fight.

I can't look. If I do, I'll choose a side. I can't do that.

Peter and Molly are grinning at each other.

It's hard to say that we (Peter and I) were ever childhood lovers and I would rather eat lard than talk to him again.

Ever since our childhood, I knew Peter and Molly would grow old into squabbling assholes with nothing better to do. I want to break their kneecaps. They are just bullies without backbones.

And now I have to fight the tanks that have the devil's tongue.

Molly is built like a tank with broad features, dirt-colored hair, and a mischievous crooked smile. Molly definitely has more mass on me and the advantage that she's a goddamned psychopathic liar without any morals or doubts. She also has that advantage of eight or nine years of hatred locked away in the small, small tiny heart that she doesn't have.

She caught me glaring. She signaled that I would die with a gesture of her index finger running just under her neck. Peter and Drew, the other aggressors, noticed and elbow each other, snickering.

I send a special grimace and roll my eyes.

They will go down. I barely knew anything about fighting- but in the back of my mind, I knew I could beat her if I just focused.

Molly has been watching me as I've been ignoring her, planning my techniques. I hope she goes easy on me- but then again, there should be no easy way. I'd never back down from a fight, especially with lousy people like Molly.

Then my gaze avoids the match going on in front of us. Al and Will are still wrestling. He looks like he will lose. I don't know.

Will is awesome. He's unlike the boyfriends I've had back in my old Faction. Not that he's my boyfriend- we've only known each other for a day.

He has fair skin, shaggy sunshine blond hair and the greenest eyes I've noticed on no one other than Peter. I'd wander through those forests forever. Will could hold himself in a conversation without being too gentle, too heavy or too peckish.

People, I realized, do not like crude honesty.

Honesty just leads to negative and offensive thoughts- which turn into offensive words. Anything could start a fight in this Dauntless pit of mine. However, honesty is what the dauntless hate and love.

It's the truth that they can't handle.

I still love the truth. All my life, I've said what's on my mind. I was either yelling, laughing or swearing loudly. Why have a voice if all one does is shut your mouth? Maybe I go off on tangents and I tend to hurt those I talk to but it's the surest way to tell what's on your mind. I appreciate that-

Another one of Molly's stupid laughs makes me jump.

Fuck. My name and her name is still on the board. I am to face her. Did I want to lose to her, no but did I want to fight her? Every moment of my goddamned life.

Four and Eric are the worst. Did they purposely put me with Molly?

They're cold, bossy and they have no time of day for initiates. Aren't they supposed to help us, not hinder? They just mentioned we have to fight. I didn't necessarily want to fight and lose, cause I knew I would. In Candor, we would celebrate the black and whiteness of our words and debate truths. We never got physical nor did we ever get scarlet red with blood.

Here, it was inevitable.

I want to portray that I'm confident but at this moment, I can't be. I'm against the tank.

Great. Will loses and I see him hobble out of the ring.

I know I'll be injured. She's looking at me like I'm fresh meat and she's the hyena that's about to devour me with dirty, yellow-fanged molars.

"Next up- Molly and Christina," Eric shouts, still having the mellifluous voice that I hate.

When he calls my name, I know the air is pushed out of me and I can't breathe.

I glare at him and we make eye-contact, even though I know everyone else has been scared out of doing that. Interacting with wild animals only get you rabies.

He shoots me a dismissive look. I know he hates me and it's right back at him. But I physically cannot move my lead-heavy limbs onto the blood-stained arena.

Molly's moving like a starving cockroach on the search for a small crumb. She is on my death stage.

Oh, God. This isn't good. I know I am in trouble now. I clench my fist and try to look confident but everyone sees through my act. I crack my knuckles, to convince them otherwise.

I will beat her. If I want to be Dauntless, I have to deal with punks like her and win. I can't be Factionless. I will be victorious, I will win.

I look at Tris.

Despite being so small, she was big in a way. She was about five feet nothing with a small build. She didn't carry herself that way, she's all marble smooth on the outside. She narrows her dull cerulean eyes and she scowls. She's mad for me. Her corn-colored blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders and she's tense.

She cracks a watery smile and I know she's never been one for reassuring others. I don't feel assured.

Eric seems to get annoyed with my inert movements. He snaps, "Christina, move before we make you fight two other initiates,"

My blood runs cold and I feel conflicted. Two?! A long string of curses go off in my head and I can't help but widen my eyes. He's... he's terrible. I crawl into the arena, fear to control me.

Tris and Al are beside each other. Eric stares at me expectantly. He gestures to his wrist, tapping the watch he's wearing. Am I inconveniencing him?

He's smirking in a way that he knows I'll fail. I'll lose. Of course, I'd look like a fool in front of him. I shake it off. I want to punch the smirk off his face and win.

Molly charges like a mad bull and I hold my fist above my face, to protect myself. We shuffle around for a few seconds and I get a couple of hits in. Her ribs, her shoulder, and her stupid forearm have felt the burn of my knuckles.

I didn't feel acute nausea anymore and the ringing in my ears drowned everyone out. I felt confident and warm because- it looked good. Sure my bruises would show but I'm not going off- to unconsciousness.

Then, I finally get brave and use my long leg to dart my foot into her side. Molly buckles a bit, gritting her yellow teeth in pain.

Guess what, I like that. The girl deserved it. I want to mess her life up. Ruin her for days.

Suddenly, Molly smirks and dives straight at me, with her meaty arms encircling my waist. She threw herself at me and knocked me over, using her cheese-burger weight to keep me down. The fall onto the arena floor was like getting hit by a car. An icy pain spread throughout my spine and I can't help but rest in the painful moment.

This is going terribly.

I thrash around, trying to get her off of me but she keeps me down. I hate it. She's so damn heavy and she has this mad look in her dark eyes. A new craze, a new ferocity, a new anger emerged and she looked deranged.

"Oh how the tables have turned," I hear Eric mutter. Proud.

She uses her left fist and begins aiming for my face, pounding on the ground if I am fast enough to dodge her. Her fist eventually catches my face with the club-like fingers. My split lip, my jaw, my ear, my nose, my chin- all hit.

The pain makes me see colors. My net of pain spreads throughout my face and I still am desperate to squirm away, get away but it's futile as she keeps on hitting me.

There's the iron smell floating around my mouth and there's wetness surrounding me. Blood, I realize. My blood. There's a throbbing in my ear and Molly's smiling at me like a madman, enjoying my writhing.

My eyes water as I want to do anything to stop the pain. I see her ugly chin and aim for that with my red colored fist. Instead, I get her ear. I hit hard and that affects her so much, she gets knocked unbalanced and falls off of me, to my left side.

I slide away, crawling away, and I tremble. I knew she hated me- but it never got physical. Damn, I'm not ready for Dauntless if this is what I have to go through.

My shoulders heave and my ribs feel like jello. Complete and utter jello that whine at the slightest movement. In my momentary escape, Molly recovers and I know she's looming over me. Her foot collides with my ribs and it hurts- hurts more than anything. I roll away, clutching my middle.

Screw you. Screw you.

I can't- I can't take anymore. I flinch when she approaches me. I struggle to my knee and hold my hand up. I concede. I can't. Not now.

I look up to Eric since I am too panicked to search for Four. My nose is bloody so I try to pinch it. "Stop!" I yell as Molly is preparing for kick number two.

I look at her, pleading.

"Stop!" and here comes the coughing, "I-I'm done,"

I look at Eric, awaiting his response.

Eric and Four got into an argument about the new rules of Dauntless. It was extreme but we're not allowed to back out of a fight. I don't care about the rules, I just want to get out of here.

Something flashes through his eyes. I am scared. I get to my knees and there's blood around me. My blood. That bitch!

He doesn't yell, he doesn't display his damn anything. He's not angered nor is he happy. He is just quiet and moving with grace. He folds his arm and inches towards me on the arena. Molly moved to the edge of the arena, a triumphant smirk on her face, hovering over the blood on her face.

She didn't win. I didn't lose either. Shut up, Molly!

He stands over me with a scowl. He's mad. He says quietly, "I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?"

It reverberates all around me. I'm done. I can't use words but I'm broken and bleeding. I don't care- just let me go, please. He glares get harder and I flinch. I- I can't do anything but nod. Better be honest than dying on the arena. My face is swelling, my body aches and I want to just sleep for a month.

It makes me feel scared that I haven't looked away.

"Get up," he says lowly. I can hear the simple animosity he has for me. I don't care. But I don't want to get up.

When I don't move, he grabs my arm roughly, his iron grip yanking me up. I don't want to push him away but I kind of pry his fingers off of me.

Before I know it, we're already at the door. We're in some narrow pathway and I can distantly hear water.

Where is he taking me?! I can't breathe and my heart squeezes painfully. I can't even hear what he says to the others but I know that they're following us.

I won't lose to Molly and Eric in the same day.

He notices that I am pushing and lets go and marches behind me, still urging me forward. His big hands press into the small of my back and the warmth burns me. He gives me little pushes but nothing major. I am so reluctant.

"What- what are we doing?! Where are you taking me?" I ask venomously, panicked.

It's so dark and I don't know where we are. I'm just tripping over my bare feet. The rocks scraping the soles of my feet don't matter.

"Shut up," he hisses with just as much venom.

"Eric-" I whine.

"Shut up, coward,"

His words, compared to the pain I received from the fight, feels a hundred thousand times worse. I don't know why. He has the power to change my future and he thinks I am a lowly coward.

Does Four think of me in that way?

That makes me feel all kinds of wrong. Coward. I am not a coward for ending the fight. He just gets off on the bruises and all of this?! Doesn't he?! I know we're supposed to be brave but this isn't cowardice. It was self-preservation and I knew, I knew Molly wouldn't have stopped kicking me. She would have killed me.

Finally, we get to the right side of the pit and no one's around. I hear the footsteps of the just as anxious dauntless.

He grabs my arm once he sees people then he brings me to the white river of chaos. The water's so loud and it roars, vibrating the rock under us. It feels powerful but I know he didn't take me here for a safety reason, safety lesson.

Finally, he shoves me against the old, copper-colored rusted railings that separated me and the water. Me and my death. He stands over me and finally looks angry.

Everyone is gathering behind Eric and they look distraught. Is he making an example out of me?!

He smirks at the water and his gaze spreads over my body. Unimpressed, is what his expression screams. He finally says, "Climb over it,"

"What?" I ask, my fear evident. I go white and my eyes widen.

Eric crosses his arms again. "Climb over the railing," he repeats, pronouncing each word slowly. "If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice. If you can't, I will not allow you to continue initiation."

What the actual hell is his problem?! He wants me to hang over the chasm for five minutes?!

He is making an example out of me. He nods and I almost shake my head. But I can't be Factionless. Not because of Molly or because of Eric. Never because of Eric.

The railings wet my pants and I know they're cold, narrow and slippery. They're metal and the water sprays over them constantly.

"Fine!" I say flippantly.

I wipe my blood soaked hands on my pants. The bleeding of my nose stopped but my face is still streaked with blood.

I then climb over the railing and I hang. I let myself clear my mind. My thoughts are blank and I'm only wondering about my mortality and my survival. My knuckles are white from holding on too tightly. And I know I can't, I can't do anything but hang on for my life. My open wounds burn and I feel powerless.

The first minute and a half are fine until a jolt of ice-cold water slams my face against the railing and makes my hand wet. My grip is weak and I'm holding on with four fingers. Then there's another huge wave and it hits me. My right hand's grip on the damn railing slips.

I remember clawing for it but my hands are wet. I can't die. I cannot die like this. Al's cheering me on and Tris is frozen, unsure of what to do. I see the varying degrees of horror on the other's faces. Damn Eric looks happy. I will attack him!

When the five minutes are up, Al says it. He glares and his stares are bullets, hoping to shoot Eric.

Eric checks his own watch but takes his time. "Fine, you can come up, Christina,"

And oh, the relief is tremendous. The pain fades and ebbs away. I'm free from this punishment- from the stigma that I am a coward. Al makes his way over to me, being big and tall, he's near to me immediately. He's going to pull me up. He's there as a savior. He never looked so strong to me before. Now he does.

"No," Eric says, his tone too casual, keeping his eyes on me. "She has to do it on her own,"

They all look mortified. I can't even feel disappointment, I am too tired. Damn you. To add insult to injury, he smirks at me. This whole time, he's kept his gaze on me and I looked back, ignoring how acidic the glare was. He liked it. Now I can't act strong. I resign myself to it. It's just pain. The best thing about pain is that it ends.

My bones feel heavy as I struggle. He's creating new ways to hurt me.

"No, she doesn't," Al growls. "She did what you said. She's not a coward. She did what you said."

Thanks, Al. Thank you. Eric doesn't respond but he looks surprisingly pleased by Al's ferocity. I can't do anything but tremble as he pulls me up. Tris is there as well. I'm wet, red with blood and freezing with the water. There's this certain ache. It reminds me of how I am still breathing.

All I know is that I am alive, no thanks to Eric and Molly.

Unknowingly, a laugh escaped my mouth. I'm alive. Bruised and broken but alive. I can celebrate that. I am a puddle but who cares? I'm alive.

That startles everyone thoroughly.

I glare at Eric first. My eyes lift to Tris who looks like I'm going to combust at any moment. I am trembling but I am fine.

Alive.

* * *

We return to the training room, and there's a blur of fights. Tris tends to me for the rest of the afternoon but Will isn't seen again. Lucky bastard.

Eric claps his hands together, watching us pant from the obvious injuries we have. Everyone immediately pays attention. I glare at the ground, angry at the world and myself. Am I a coward?! Am I- am I supposed to be Factionless? I can't return to Candor. I can't.

I am so ashamed. I can't even look at any of my friends. Molly taunts me. Both Peter and Molly won their fights. Drew lost to Peter and he's more black and blue than I am.

Every time I lift my eyes, I somehow catch Eric's stare on my face. He's observing me like I soured his milk. The Dauntless leader with soured milk.

In front of us, we're done and he waits for us to shut up. He clears his throat and I avoid his gaze. "That was a good training session. You all have exposed your skill levels and others their cowardice," Eric says slowly. Malicious.

I suddenly look at him to find he's already shooting a pointed glare at me.

I narrow my eyes. Can't he just give it a rest?! I didn't expose my cowardice. Others snicker and I feel Tris's worried stare on the side of my face. Al just looks angry. For me. I feel those emotions being amplified by the tenfold.

"We will return to this tomorrow," Eric says loudly, excited. "You are all dismissed,"

My head aches as I struggle to get up. Tris waits for me and she flounces to my side. I just want to leave the training room as soon as possible. I cannot handle this.

We're released from the training room and everyone has their fair share of bruises when they spill out.

Eric says, "Everyone but you," and looks at me.

He points to me.

The air stops again and I sink a bit. Me. Why is it always me?! My heart becomes ice and my guts are ice water.

I scan the training room. "Me?" I squeak. It comes out as a question. I want to sound strong but I am honestly scared.

He nods and he says to Al and Tris, "Scram. It's a friendly discussion between me and an initiate,"

Ha. Friendly. Try deadly.

I know I might not walk out and rejoin my friends.

They hesitate and Tris is staring at Eric in a way that intimidates me. She's staring into his soul and sees the dirt and sadism he has in there. Al cuffs her shoulder and pulls her away.

I try to cross my arm but the bruises on my ribs make me unable to.

We're alone when the door shuts. He just lets his gaze fall on me, head to toe. I feel exposed and observed. I'm in a black bralette and baggy camo pants that's tied with an old belt. My stomach's exposed and he's staring at me like a meal.

I turn away and cross my arms, the way he is though it hurts. I want to make myself look bigger but I am still short compared to him.

"What?" I snap.

"Watch yourself, initiate," he says slowly. "You do not want to cross me. If you do, there will be consequences,"

I am too hurt and uncaring of these said punishments. So I look away. He's blocking the exit so I can't dash out of there.

"I want to discuss your act of cowardice," he says, like we were in the middle of a casual conversation.

"I am not a coward," I say.

"Your behavior suggests otherwise," he seethes, voice low.

"I am not a coward," I repeat, more sure of myself.

"Don't lie to yourself," he grits and I glare.

"I can't lie. I'm Candor," I yell.

"You're wrong," Eric shakes his head, offering a grave look. "You're Dauntless although you're not acting like one," he whispers in a strangled tone.

I feel ridiculous for yelling when he's stoic and quiet. It makes me feel gaslit and crazy.

"I backed down. So what? That tank would have killed me. You saw how she was. I didn't want to die," I am yelling, and I didn't know know what I was saying. Why am I so honest?!

I feel as though I made an error because his jaw sets and there's darkness in his gray eyes. "Dauntless has no room for excuses or positions for those who make those excuses,"

"It's not an excuse. If you had half of a neuron, you'd know that she would have killed me,"

His eyes flash angrily. "Do not insult me, Christina. It is unbecoming of you and I can make your life hell. I'm above you weak rookie,"

He's just a brick wall and I don't intend on fighting him.

I sigh, seeing red. I can't take any of this. I brush past him, not caring that my shoulder collides with his own. Pain dusts over my shoulder but I can't care. I don't care.

He grabs my arm roughly and twirls me around so that we are face to face with each other.

Then his words come at me like knives. "In Dauntless, we fight and win but we also lose. Those outcomes do not stop us from throwing and sharing punches. We do not shy away from a fight due to the injury we might receive. Dauntless do not think like that. If you cannot see reason in my words, then you are already one foot out of our door. We are brave not cowards,"

I feel angry, my cheeks burn and I want to run away. But he's not singing a liar's tune. There's blood in my mouth because I've been biting my tongue.

He continues, "We do not believe in backing down. If you do not conform to these standards, you will find yourself on the streets with the other non-dauntless. Weak and Factionless. Do you want to find yourself in that position?" he asks.

I don't answer. My mouth goes dry and his grip on my arm is tight. Was it Dauntless of me to not fight? Was it?! If she had bashed my skull in, would it have been better than enduring this special torture?

Dauntless do not run away from the chaos, from the fire. They are holding the matches and lighters while dancing around the flame. They do not care if they get burnt because they are brave.

Was I running away from the non-existent explosion? Dauntless flirt with death but they never kiss it.

Eric hates my moments of contemplation. "Answer me," he says cautiously, squeezing my arm a bit more. Hard.

I grit my teeth and avoid his gaze still. I have to tell the truth, he already thinks so little of me, why add to the hate? Agreeing with him will just inflate his ego thus leaving me alone.

"No," I say, feeling defeated.

He squeezes my arm warningly. He wants me to finish my answer.

"No I don't want to be in that position," I answer and he eases up.

"Then train like you want to be here and pray that you're going to make it to the third stage,"

I look at him, accidentally. Our faces are so close and I can see the little scar that's above his lip. I'm looking up to him and I notice there are hints of blue in that ashen mix of his eyes. He looks dead serious and his strong jawline is set.

Then it hits me. "There are three stages?!" I ask, horror in my tone.

Oh, God. When I inhale deeply, I smell his scent. He smells like spiced rum and expensive cigarettes. A little earthy.

He narrows his eyes. His brow is pierced and the edge of his lip is pierced as well. The silver reflects the light of the room. "There you go again with the fear," he says, annoyed, a matter of factly. "If you never try, you can't win or lose and that's your problem,"

"You don't know anything about me," I scoff. Is he serious?

Now he's angry but he's not yelling. "I know enough. Keep it that way until your initiation ends. If you make it to that stage, that is. Don't give me or any of the other instructors trouble,."

"Don't act like you're trying to help me. You practically dangled me off of the railing and I almost died. For Dauntless saving lives- that was the opposite," I hiss as I pull away. "Don't pretend you care,"

I head towards the door, secretly pondering his words. I don't look but I know he's glaring at the back of my head.

Good.

My arms still burn from the memories of hanging over the railing for so long. It hurts to even clench my fingers. I've been through worse. My muscles are new and sore but I hate the effect he has on me. What type of spawn does that to a person?

Does he get off on our suffering? Almost as terrible as Peter! That dick.

I hate it. I hate him. Eric didn't have to be so, so idiotic. Both Four and Eric are idiotic. The stupid number and stupid tattooed idiot. It doesn't help.

I just wanted to quit a simple fight with the bitch Molly. She destroyed me out there and I get punished by Eric. It hurts more than I know. I'm still damp from his little stunt and I know, I know that he finds pleasure in me almost dying.

He's ruthless, Will told me one late night. He was ruthless and I understand, in broad daylight. While I hung on, I counted fifty-six different ways to react to my cowardly ways.

I just asked for a fight to stop. I panted, there was blood in my mouth, my ribs ached and all he saw was a kicked dog?! I was so confident- Dauntless are never supposed to be nervous yet I found myself stepping onto the mat.

It annoyed and flustered me to no end.

* * *

I am in the dim hallway, clenching my fist. I will not get out of this. This is my life now. I chose Dauntless. I will be Dauntless.

Tris is at the door. Al is there. They're standing abreast to each other. They both look terribly worried. But I wave it off.

"What did Eric say?" Tris asks, still anxious. She's usually so grounded but she looked like a wreck. For me, I add in a small tone.

I am huffing and my mind reels. It hurts to breathe. Damn you, Molly. I try not to limp.

Eric mouthed off about me being a coward, I want to say. I can't, though. I like how I have some control over my words, now that I am in Dauntless. I might not be Dauntless because I don't act like one. God. Does everyone see me like that? I want to tell them all the stinging words he said. At the end of the day, they are still my competition. I can't look weak in front of them. I can't look weak in front of anyone.

So, I shrug. "It's just Eric being Eric," I say nonchalantly, acting as though that explained it. "He wants me to square up,"

Al looks like he's going to punch the wall and Tris shakes her head softly, muttering something.

"You've already done enough. He's just a sadist. We don't know how to fight. We don't know anything and he's beating on us," Al growls.

Tris just sighs, like all the energy has been taken out of her. "I hope he doesn't target you,"

"You know, he already has. Four times," I say, thinking about it carefully. She winces because she knows it's true. "So he has and will."

I was over a railing because of him. Fuck.

Tris clenches her small fist and becomes quiet. She'll deal with it internally, all on her own like she always does. I look at Al. "Thanks... Thanks for pulling me up," I whisper, trying not to get emotional.

Al doesn't look like he'll murder Eric and softens. He's so gentle. "Yeah... it was no big deal," he scratches the back of his neck.

Tris looks at me and says, "We'll stop him. He won't touch you,"

She's determined. I think about that. All he was saying was stupid but I was just... relieved.

"I hope he drops dead," Al says quietly.

"Don't we all?" I say, in all of my crassness.

Despite ourselves, they laugh. I want to but it hurts my ribs. They help me wobble to the cafeteria for dinner.

* * *

We take a look around the filled cafeteria. There are fights, loud laughter, piercing conversations and brawls. I love the noise, it feels like Candor.

Candor and Dauntless are similar. There are altercations, loud smart asses and people wear a lot of black. However, there's bloodshed, more alcohol, and fights. There's always some energy that reminds us we're free. We don't care.

My gaze sweeps across the cafeteria and I realize I am looking for my sister. She'll never be in this crowd.

Rose... I miss her.

I spot Molly, Drew, and Peter laughing. They loved the sight of my bruised face. Molly smirks and Peter gives her a high five. I glare at them.

Will is sitting alone with obviously reserved spots for us. It makes me feel good cause I know the spot beside him is for me. Me only.

Before I can feel happy, I spot Eric. I can't help but tense up. My mood always changes when I think of him.

He's with a group of Dauntless who are not afraid of him. Friends. He's talking freely. His hair is slick and he's easy-going, not letting his guard down, but calm. He has white teeth, even from here, I can see them glint.

I want to make him swallow his stupid, perfect teeth.

Suddenly, like he sensed me staring, he turns and notices me. He looks straight at me and I don't look away. Maybe he's numbed by the drink in his hand. It's a red cup and I've seen movies.

He doesn't glare at me like I am, he instead scans my face, all analytical. Then as if to shatter my world, he winks.

What the hell?! It makes me so confused that I curse and shift away from Al. He only wants to do me dirt.

Al notices and apologizes, automatically blaming himself. "Oh- sorry, Christina, I didn't mean to,"

I say it's fine and he looks pained. Tris is beside me and she shoots me a suspicious side-glance. "Who were you looking at?" she simply asks.

I quickly avert my gaze and Tris raises a pale eyebrow. Suddenly, Will's deep voice calls out. It's smooth like caramel. "Guys," he says. "Over here,"

Will takes one look at me and sinks a bit. Al is supporting me, on arm draped over my shoulder and another arm around my waist.

"What happened?" he asks, rushing over to me. Even though he's bruised and in pain, he's already by my side, fawning over me.

I wince when we moved too fast. He takes Al's position and I sigh in relief. Tris and Al left, to get food.

Will settles me on the bench and I take a moment to breathe. Will's eyebrows furrow and I reach out and pull his ear. "Don't worry. I'm fine," I say, even though I am lying. I don't want him to worry.

He shakes my hand away.

When he's not crunching the statistics and numbers in his head- he's worrying. He scoffs, not believing me. He clasps my shoulder and squeezes it. It also makes me look at him. "What happened?" he asks again because no one answered him before.

"Molly and Eric happened. I'd imagine me being triumphant instead of them," I grit out, not wanting to recount the experience.

Thinking about it hurts. Has no one talked to him? People must be talking. It makes me happy that no one knows of my embarrassment. It soothes me.

"You had to fight both of them?" he yelps and people look at us. I shoot them angry looks. Mind your own business.

I shake my head. "No. Molly beat me up real good and Eric- Eric made me hang off of the railing over the chasm because of my said cowardice," I tell him. There's no point in hiding why I am in pieces. "He's such a hypocrite."

He looks so angry, his pale face is splotched with red. "Why would Eric do that?" he growls.

"Why would anyone?" I grumble. He's crazy but a bit right. "He's loony,"

"You look like a walking corpse. Are you okay?" he asks and leans in closer and his minty breath brushes over my face. He smells like lavender and creeks. Not authority and smoke. Weird.

He wants to ask more questions but my stomach growls. "Looks like another monster came out of hiding," Will says, referring to my grumbling stomach.

I smack his arm, shoving playfully. "I just get angry when I'm hungry, I'm not a monster when I'm practically starving," I laugh. I haven't eaten anything since lunch. It's near nighttime, I think.

He shrugs and says, "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the growling,"

He stands up and runs off. Tris and Al aren't back and I am happy with our little group. Will was smart and powerful, Al was gentle but strong and Tris was so pure and brave.

I look around, to check where they are. Again, I catch the strong gaze of Eric. And I hate this. This time, it was him looking first. What the hell? He glares at me this time and I wonder what I did. Does my breathing make him upset? Am I digging my grave? Why is he so hot and cold?

My friends come back and I am still recovering from Eric's mind games. I suddenly feel sick. I want to leave. They come back with my food. It turns out that both Tris and Will got me grub. I'm happy. They care.

I stay quiet and they chalk it up to me getting my ass kicked. Really, I'm pondering Eric's words. Am I weak? Do I really need to stop being so afraid? I- I am so confused. I fought the darkness growing inside. I eat too much but it feels good.

I need to fix that... but how?

* * *

When I've had enough of the laughter and Peter's non covert wanting stares, I lie and say I'm going to the bathroom. I actually head to the nurse's wing in the pit. I had to ask around but I finally got there.

It's all black and sterile. People lay in cots and beds, trying to heal.

A doctor spots me and shrieks. She's Dauntless but a little too scared of wounds, I can tell. She's all over me and checking me for injuries. I suddenly feel ashamed. People have broken wrists and bones and I just have bruises. They need this more than me.

I try to leave but she clasps my arm and scolds me until I lie down. She gives me painkillers and some morphine. The morphine makes me feel like I'm floating.

There are tattooed and bruised Dauntless with wild haircuts and even stranger piercings. Most people are more ink than skin and metal than flesh. I feel like I'm on my deathbed. Everyone's laughing, proud of their small battle scars. I wish I was proud.

Instead of coming back to them, my friends, I collapse on the bed and fall asleep.

* * *

The next day, I wake up in the bed I collapsed on. I get two pills and swallow them dry. After she tended to my wounds and gave me a cream from Amity to heal my bruises, I feel better. My face is messed up and sore but I swing my legs over the ledge.

I get up, go to the bathroom and run ice cold water over my knuckles and face. I make my way to the dorms and I realize how early it was. There was no one around in the pit.

How early was it? I ask myself. I check and it's just before six a.m. Damn. Before Dauntless, you couldn't pay me to wake up before eleven. How times have changed. I don't get to kiss my mom in the morning, go jogging with my dad and argue over boys with Rose.

Before I can do anything, I realize I stink. I need a damn shower. I go to my bed and at my bedside, there are some clothes that I like.

I gather my clothes and sigh. I choose black tights and a gray crop top that exposed my navel. I kept the effort to a minimal to not upset my hurts. I rush out, using my familiar silver clips to tie my hair back. I run to the training room. My body aches and my head hurts but I have to work on my strength. I have to get better.

It's empty and the lights are on, but some aren't. So it's dark and dim. It reminds me of a black and white horror story.

I ignore my fears and move forward. I remove my shoes and stretch. It aches but I barely notice it.

As I move to the sand-filled bags, I use my forearms to practice building up a tolerance. I have to block punches with the outside of my forearms.

I am just about ready to start punching the hard red leather when I hear; "Well, well what do we have here?" someone says.

I sigh and swivel around and see him. I jump back, collided with the hard bag and pain raced up my back. I bite my lip from crying out.

Why is he here?

_Eric._

* * *

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- SOoo. This pairing is weird but like- read Breaking The Habit by BellumGerere and you'll see so much potential. My story will be pretty long, convering all three books and I will follow the storyline or not, idk. Tris is kinda awful but I love my guy Four! Yeah. And like, Christina is all over the place and snarky and not as into Will.


	2. Muffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christina and Eric talk for a few.

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 2-  
Muffins

* * *

Don't get mad. You want to punch his stupid teeth but don't get mad, I tell myself.

After we argued, I knew we'd never get along. Let's keep it this way.

He just smirks at my pain and crosses his arms.

He hasn't shaved. Today, he's wearing a black muscle-tee and cotton running shorts. The keychain of many doors pokes out from his pocket and hangs loosely. He doesn't look like a Dauntless leader. He looks like a regular guy- and why am I curious about him?

I avoid his gaze then I lift my chin so he knows that I am not guilty.

"It's a bit too early for you to be here," he says after watching me.

"It's never too early to train," I bite out. It is early. Maybe it's true but I didn't care.

"You're serious about being Dauntless?" he mock gasps. Like a dickhead.

"What's so wrong about that?" I ask.

I don't want to face him. If I face him, I'll punch him. Then again, I'll get reckless. I am reckless.

He seems like a better practice dummy. He is a moron and perfectly punchable.

"Nothing," he responds and I hear the smug shrug in his voice. "You just smartened up. You won't have training wheels anymore. That's what we look for. Growth,"

I feel myself beaming a bit.

I shove that away and focus. It's hard to do that when he's there. I get into the stance he showed us yesterday. I am pre-occupied with trying to hit the leather punching bag. However, he has other plans.

"Christina, before you start, you need to protect your-" he says.

I interrupt him, even though he's acting jovial and impressed. "I want to do this, so can you be quiet? I need to focus," I ask and I don't look at him. He is talking too much.

He scoffs at my tone and I don't care.

"I'm trying to be Dauntless," I explain loudly. "Don't you want that?"

He doesn't respond and I breathe a sigh of relief. Concentrate. I think he left because I heard steps. I drown it out. Concentrate.

I punch the leather bag a couple of times, using my pent-up anger in every lunge. Everything hurts but I am still punching. I got a rhythmic tempo that suits me. There's blood rushing through me and pain's all over. When I look down, my knuckles are split. I unclench my fists. They're bloodied.

I gasp. How was I punching so hard?

What the hell?

I spin around to get to my water bottle. I have to flush the cuts with water before I go back to the mousy nurse.

Surprisingly, Eric is still there. He's in the same position with a smirk on his face. He's neither sympathetic or angry- he just looks pleased.

"Wha- why didn't you leave?" I yell in shock.

"You did a lot of careless things. I wanted to see the byproducts of it," he supplies smoothly. So condescending.

"What?" I ask.

He gesticulates to my fingers. "You didn't apply tape to your knuckles," he shrugs. "Rookie mistake. Rookie,"

I flex my fingers. I am dumb. I was punching and the soft skin of my knuckles rubbed against the rough leather. I am so dumb. I avoid looking at him. How will I even do this? How will I get through initiation?

I scowl at him and curl my fists. That burns. "Fine. You win- I suck at being Dauntless," I blow up, walking past him. I just need to get out of here. I'll sleep. Or cry.

He just clicks his tongue three times. "Don't be dramatic. I didn't say that" he whispers.

"You didn't have to," I say sharply.

"Don't be a kicked puppy, initiate," he explains, waving my attitude off. "You are a rookie with rookie mistakes, it only makes sense you'd screw up,"

What a backhanded comment... Was he insulting me or comforting me? I don't care cause it... It didn't work.

I begin to turn away until I see him reach into his pocket. Is he going to shoot me? I'm just walking away. For us and all the incessant yelling, it's extreme.

He reaches down into his bulky pocket and pulled out some black cloth- oh it's a bandage. He pulls out tape afterward and it's white.

"Do you need some?" he says, the bundle of tape and bandages sitting on his palm.

I almost smile so I look away. "Wow," I say and he could hear my astonishment. Did he just do something nice?

Eric grimaces and looks at his hand and back to my face. "Don't look so happy," he snaps and I flinch. "I don't accept when cowards bleed all over the arena floor. Gives unnecessary work to my people,"

I sigh. Back to the same asshole. My face falls and I think about leaving. "I need some," I hiss.

He looks at me then turns around. He goes to the bench lining the training room's jagged wall. He gestures for me to sit down. I hesitantly go to him, not trusting him.

"I'm not going to bite you," he says.

But you would force me to dangle over a chasm and die, falling to my death, I want to say but I don't.

I go there, like a deer in headlights. I'm reproachful and slow but I sit.

He sits down with me. I sneer, what a gentleman. He waited for me to sit down first to be polite like my mom and dad do at restaurants.

However, I'm not at the Candor compound, we are not my mom and dad and Eric would never push in my chair. He's such an ass.

There's a safe distance between us. He rolls his eyes, getting impatient. He scoots over. I react, instinctively, and move away.

"I won't hurt you, relax," he scolds, like a parent with an unruly child.

I narrow my eyes. "Do you blame me?" I ask in a clipped tone.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he shrugs. What was that? I want to ask but I can't.

"Take off your watch,"

I look at it, oh yeah. I take it off without complaint and decide to fasten it to my leg.

His arms are a lot more muscular up close- when he's unraveling the bandage. He checks the size of my hands and judges how much he'll need. He is very precise and meticulous. And surprisingly helpful. He could have just let me limp off. But that doesn't throw away the fact that he tried to get me killed.

He can also be spiteful, ruthless and a slithering snake out to bite people. He also called me a coward and that stung. I honestly don't know why I am sitting next to him in the a.m with Eric.

He catches me observing him. "What?" he crabs at me.

"Nothing," I say, not averting my gaze. "Although I'm wondering if I'll bleed out,"

"We can try that right now if you could just shut up and let me do this," he snaps.

I shut up and let him do it. "Why do you carry this around?" I ask.

I can't help but ask, hating the silence. I never go five minutes without saying anything. Maybe I am a chatterbox, maybe I am annoying but it's the way I am.

"Just in case idiots like you decide to get injured around me," he grunts.

Coward, idiot- such a colorful use of language. I open my mouth because I have a clever retort on the tip of my tongue.

He hears me open my mouth and he shakes his head. "Enough questions,"

"Fine,"

He stares at me, unimpressed. "Do you want my help or not?" he asks, pissing me off.

"Yes," I make a face after I nod. I don't want to need his help.

He notices my dishonesty and says, "Maybe you are a true Candor, you're an awful liar. I'm not going to help you. One has to be grateful to be helped. Perhaps you do not want my help,"

He stands up and heads for the door. I don't what I did wrong but I find myself standing as well, following him.

"Wait- wait," I yell and I am too loud and I sound desperate. "Just- just tape up my fingers, I don't care,"

Unsatisfied with my answer, he turns on his heel and huffs.

"Come on, I want your help," I admit and it feels like swallowing razor blades.

"Sorry, didn't hear that," he says, back turned to me. He's going to make me say it again?! If I ran up to him, he'd be smiling, that bastard.

"I want your help," I say, face burning.

"How much did it hurt to say that?"

"More than dancing on the sun," I conclude after a while of thinking.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Hn. Good. Before I help you, Rookie, what's the magic word?" he taunted.

"I can go to the nurses and get my own tape," I retort, thinking about it.

He scoffs but doesn't say anything. He's quiet while he sits down in the same spot. I swallow my fear and sit down. I sit closer, not even caring that he rose his eyebrows. It's getting me what I want.

And then I hear the air-conditioning come on. The humming sounds were pleasant.

He looks at me and says, "But you wouldn't,"

Before I can ask another question, he says; "Don't. You talk too much. No talking,"

I nod. "Okay,"

He sends me an annoyed glare.

I cover my mouth. Oops.

Sorry, not sorry. He finally grabs my fingers, he's not rough like I expected. He knows that I winced earlier at the pain. He moves slowly and checks for my expression. He's focusing on helping me. It's nice.

He finally wraps the black bandage around my sore knuckles. I sigh in relief. He notices but doesn't say anything.

We contrast each other so much.

His long fingers are ivory and inked, even his hands, are over my ebony skin. He looks like he's fought many battles since he was so cut up.

I'm all smooth thanks to the numerous pampering routines I did growing up. My hands are smaller and I have longer nails since his are chewed off and broken. But we've both held guns and that's a start.

He's finally done with the bandages that he moved onto the white tape. Since he's irritated, he wraps the tape a bit too tight.

"Don't cut off the circulation," I warn, just to say something.

"The faith you have in me brings me to tears," he deadpans.

I have no faith in you, I remind him in my head. And he should cry. I would get a real kick out of it.

I shrug. "You wouldn't, though," I say in a quiet voice. I'm not being an ass. I'm not sarcastic nor am I lying. I didn't know him but I knew that.

He looks at me and we sit in the quiet. "Whatever," he says.

He's done and I spring up. I don't look back at him but I can feel his aura become darker. "Rookie, what's the magic word?"

I just walk off. "No talking," I say after getting back to the punching bag. The day I say thank you to Eric is the day I die.

I just start training again. It feels less painful due to Eric. But I won't thank him. He offered.

* * *

 

I get to the cafeteria, trying not to limp. I take a carton of milk, a chocolate muffin, and some white grapes. I like to eat the chocolate chip muffin last because it makes everything more enjoyable. The food isn't half bad. It's all protein and vegetables then there's cake and muffins.

I find a small empty table and collapse. I sit alone, knowing that everyone's quiet now because it's morning. I think I just lost all of my energy. I will pass out if I do anything.

I burned myself out.

My stomach growls and I furl my eyebrows.

I eat and contemplate my next move. I know that I won't be visiting the training center in the early morning. If I do, I'll run into the devil himself. He is a leader after all. It's not like he purposefully walked into that specific training room to annoy me.

There's a chance that him stalking me is untrue but the coincidence is far too strong.

Do I want him around?

No. That's the right answer.

I have to train before people wake up. I want to get stronger. I want to be dauntless. I am not a coward. Or an idiot.

So I will train every morning, even if I am tired.

I want to punch him with the hands he wrapped up. He'll literally feel the success he has with his medical skills.

I don't want him to be there. Eric is so sketchy and he's all shadows despite having moonlight skin. He just makes me feel nervous.

I never feel nervous about someone like him. I should tell him how much I hate him.

I haven't but he knows. I should tell him.

Oh god. I just mouthed off to a Dauntless leader without thinking of it. He's going to make me do something so horrible. What extent of power does he have? He bosses everyone around but what administrative work does he do?

My knuckles are still taped up. I don't bother taking them off.

I focus on my food because the thoughts make me dizzy. Before I can touch my muffin, a hand swipes it away. My jaw drops. "Hey! What's the big deal?!" I shriek, following the hand that took my muffin.

"Christina,"

"What?" I snap but I look up and it's Will.

Oh. "Oh," I echoed, looking at him.

I smack his hand, trying to steal it back. Instead of handing it back to me, a mischievous smile spreads across his face and he brings the muffin up to his lips. He takes a bite and sits across from me.

I shake my head. "What was that for? You muffin thief,"

Will shrugs, pretending to be innocent. "If I am a thief then you are a magician,"

"What did I do wrong?" I huff, eyeing my chewed up muffin. I chew on my grapes, not in the mood.

"You pulled a disappearing act," he says, quite tense. I look at him, dumbfounded. "Last night, you were gone. I looked all over for you. Then you ditched sleeping in the dorms and I couldn't find you anywhere 'til now,"

What? Oh. I didn't sleep in the dorms and I wasn't there when he woke up. Sweet.

I raise an eyebrow when I grin. "Were you worried about me?" I ask. I suddenly feel like a bad puppy when I notice the betrayed look in his forestry eyes.

Will nods sternly and I can hear some panic. "It's not in your character to just disappear. You would normally alert me. Tris accused Molly and Peter of murdering you and disposing of your corps. It was highly improbable but Al and Tris were that worried,"

I frown. "First of all, I wasn't killed. I'm not from Amity. I don't go down easy. I swear you guys overreact sometimes. Second of all, I slept in the infirmary,"

Will offers a frown of his own. "And..." And Eric. I pause before speaking- which was a rare occurrence. I couldn't tell him I trained in the early morning. I can't say that Eric was there either. That's just a problem. If I say that, it will mess things up. I didn't want to tell anyone either. For some reason, it feels like a secret I should keep.

"And I stayed there," I say quietly.

Will raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

I chuckle nervously. "Look at me, I look like a bruised plum. The nurse wouldn't let me leave for a good reason," I share.

He frowns.

"It was so bad... I needed morphine," I add quietly, as an afterthought.

After all those questions, he stops the interrogations and his green eyes soften. "Oh, I'm sorry about that,"

I reach out and squeeze his hand. "I'm fine," I drawl. "Don't worry about it, I always come back with even more skill,"

"Why are your hands taped up?"

"My knuckles are split. After the fight with Molly," I elaborate.

"They look so professional, like a real boxer's coach did them for you,"

I look at the taped up knuckles. Perhaps. Eric cared. A shiver rocks me to my core. Weird. Why would he tape up my knuckles properly? He had the chance to fuck with it but he didn't. I don't know why. He confuses me, and I shouldn't care. He shouldn't either, so why does he?

Will snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. "Hello? Earth to Christina," he asks, evidently worried.

"I'm sorry," I say when I look at my other hand. It's still on Will's hand.

"I don't mind," he says, sporting a grin.

I smile and we stay like that, hand over hands. I take back my muffin and chomp on that, fighting the gnawing urge to pull away.

* * *

 

Will and I split up to go find Tris and Al.

When I meet Tris, Will is nowhere to be found. I just stay with them as we're walking through the door of the training center. I finish up my third muffin and brush away the crumbs. I look at everyone in the training center. They look just as beat down as I do. We're all tired, frustrated and anxious. Despite that, I want to prove myself to everyone. I want Eric to not think of me as a coward. A loser. So I have to fight. I have to fight to win.

No one's doing anything, we're late to the session might start soon, in minutes. We're all scared but we push it aside so we could feel the rush. Feel the thrill. Feel the heart pound. I feel it, the energy we give off. Maybe that's why I chose Dauntless. Perhaps. I'm just as much of a fighter as they are.

I crumple up the wrapper in my hand as I see whose names are on the board.

Tris and Al notice at the same time. "Oh no," I say. I can't help it.

Tris goes white. She stopped in her tracks and purses her lips.

Of course, she is.

Tris is fighting Peter. She hadn't fought anyone yesterday. If Molly is the cousin of a bad guy, Peter is the devil. He's worst than all of them. He looks so kind and innocent then he acts like he's going to war. He's so dangerous when he's around us. He never gets caught because the Dauntless leaders don't necessarily care if we are bullied.

One said, "We're Dauntless. We don't tease, we bully. Same difference,"

There is a huge difference between harmless teasing to harassment. Peter will crush all of us. Now Tris has to be the one to get hit first.

"Are they serious? They're really going to make you fight him?" I hiss.

Eric and Four planned this out? Or was it some kind of cruel trick.

I look at Eric, kind of betrayed. He is such an ass. Did he plan this? Did he want them to fight?

"Maybe you can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious," Al suggests, looking worried. He kind of looks at Tris the way Will looked at me this morning. "No one would blame you."

"Yeah," Tris says, an angry flush on her cheeks. "Maybe."

I am just as sad and startled. The fights gets on. Edward and Myra verse each other but I don't watch since I know Myra will lose.

I talk with Al, leaving Tris to her own thoughts and devices. Al is cool company and he's a fellow Candor. I know I can say my thoughts to him and not get judged. He's gentle and soft but he knows the harshness of Candor.

"Why couldn't it have been me?" Al says, watching Tris. Tris is away, pacing. She wanted to rehearse her fighting stances, or whatever. I didn't ask.

I know he fancies Tris. He's obviously as his clumsy moves and attempts to make her smile. He's always standing so near, only talking to her in the group conversations and trying so hard to help her.

It's so sweet but awkward because Tris is so oblivious to it all or she simply doesn't reciprocate his feelings but isn't turning him down. Either one breaks my heart.

"What? Are you insane? Peter would destroy all of us. Al, we're not as good as Peter. It kills me to say so but it's true,"

"Maybe," he says and gazes back at Tris. He watches her like she created the fire meant to keep him warm. Suddenly, I know he's not listening to me. Not even a measly word I say.

"Maybe. If I can fight Peter in her place. I knocked Will out, I can knock Peter out. It's all in the way I fight," he says and I know I can't let him. It's too risky, too dumb and too cute. "I'll beat Peter up. For Tris. If he hurts one hair on her head, I'll come after him,"

Instead of asking if he's insane, I laugh. People look. It's too strange to hear laughing in this environment. Especially when I am all bruised and awaiting more pain. It's just as abstract as Al's threat. Even when he's trying to be intimidating, I know he can't hurt a soul.

"Why are you laughing?"

"You're insane," I say, trying to catch my breath. "That's why,"

"I'm going to switch places with Tris to fight Peter," he says. He repeats aloud, more determined. "I have to talk to Four and Eric," He stands up wobbly and I almost not catch him.

As if that would work. They wouldn't. There's a line between stupidity and braveness. He would have crossed that line when he would have spoken to Eric.

"Sit down Albert, we can't beat Peter and you can't switch places with Tris. If you switch places with Tris, she might fight someone else,"

"But at least it's not Peter," he says and his mind is made up.

Perhaps he's not so gentle. He's afraid of everything else that he becomes a big huge bleeding valiant heart when Tris is involved. Do we get brave for certain people?

Al sends me one look and grins. "She'll be safe because of me. I'll tell Eric,"

"I can't let you do that, tunnel vision- Al,"

He sends me one frustrated look and I know he's going to do something stupid.

I suddenly grab his leg. His leg was suspended in mid-air and I tugged him back and somehow, he fell backward, toward me. It was like- Timber! And there was a huge thud. I rolled away just in time but my arm was under his shoulder blade.

The room goes quiet as everyone stares at us. I let out a hiss of pain. He landed on my damn wrist. And he groans in pain. It sounds like a decompressed tire losing air.

"Rookie, stop making noise and watch the match. Stop with the foolish shenanigans," Eric scolds and I don't have to look up to know he's glaring at us.

My wrist protests as I weigh the situation. At least Al didn't do anything stupid but now Eric is annoyed of me and Al. Mostly me.

I sigh. I roll away from Al, hitting him in the act. "You shouldn't make choices by yourself, Al," I sit up and rub my hand.

Al sits up and I shove him. He shoves me back, playful. "I didn't know I need your permission," he says, rubbing the back of his head.

"You big dope, not for anything everything- 'cept when it comes to Tris and Eric," I lean against the wall and Al does the same. We catch our breath.

"Okay, true," Al agrees but pauses and looks at me.

"I'm sorry I tipped you over,"

"Me too," he says. "I thought I dislocated my spleen,"

"Your spleen is fine, don't worry," I say, shrugging it off. I poke his side, like a kid bothering their sibling. "Forgive me?" I ask, nervous.

"Maybe. Will you give me any muffins?" Al asks and I share a smile with him.

I tap my chin, feeling happy that he forgave me. "Maybe. If you give me a penny for your thoughts,"

He nods and agrees. I like that. I say: "First, my question; why Eric?"

I suck in a hiss of air. I don't know why I said that. It just came out and it's so easy to tell him the truth. He just gets it. He knows what I went through in Candor. He knows how damaging lying is to me. I don't exactly know why, so I ramble on until I find something reasonable and intelligent. "...He hates us and I have more control around him and Tris than you,"

"Also true,"

"Don't worry. I've had the same thought a million times but we have to trust her. She's not some damsel in distress. She's the first jumper and brave one,"

"You sure?" he says, concentrating hard. "She's the first jumper and brave but the first one..." he winces, faltering off.

"She doesn't want you to save her nor does she need you to. She isn't a damsel in distress. She's Tris. She'll do this,"

Al shrugs and I eye him suspiciously. She's not soft like him. She's brave. I shrug, leaving us in a weird spot. "I never noticed how strong she looked without all the gray. She's... good at-"

"Yeah, she's beautiful," Al agrees.

"What did you say?" I chuckle aloud again.

"What you said," Al says. He looks at me, confused. I narrow my eyes, feeling giddy. "Isn't that what you said?"

I shake my head, chewing my lips to stop from laughing. "Do you have feelings for our dear Tris?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you have feelings for Will?"

I pause. "No,"

"Really?"

"Trust me, I grew up in Candor," I say, elbowing him.

"Yeah, but we're in Dauntless now," Al argues. "And Dauntless lie. A lot,"

I frown. Why is everyone a judge and I'm on trial? "I don't have feelings for Will, Al," I tell him firmly. "And I don't lie. I wouldn't lie to you either. Even if we're not Candor, don't you carry around the truth, ever you go?"

He doesn't answer because Tris climbed into the arena and she's fighting.

Al doesn't mind when I hide my face in his sweat shirt's sleeve. After a couple of minutes, there's a blood-curdling scream that is too feminine to be Peter's.

Tris. Oh god. I can't look. I know she screamed before Peter performed his finishing move. Tris doesn't scream, she's- she's always taking the pain silently.

Just what the hell did Peter do?

I stand up and rush to the arena.

Tris is on the arena floor, near blacked out. She's still awake. Peter stands over her with a triumphant smirk. He's still beating her. Four is out of the door. I don't know why he's leaving- I don't care. I tear my eyes away from the sight of Tris keeling over and Peter going to kick her.

In a panic, I limp to Eric. "Stop him! She's already knocked out and the fight is over. She can't fight anymore. That's the rule," Eric can barely hear my voice over Tris's demonic cry of pain so I yell as well.

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. He's confused. "What's there to stop?"

My eyes widen and I wanted to murder him. I shout; "Enough!" at Peter.

He kicks her and I lunge for Peter. "Stop it!" I say.

Suddenly, Eric pulls me back and hisses next to my ear; "Do you want to get hurt as well, Rookie?" His arms are around my waist and he immobilizes me.

I can't help but think- his arms are so strong and safe. His warmth envelops me and it's hard to think straight.

Eric shoves me away and says, "Peter is the winner,"

I glare at him. That's all he does. He just says, "Good job boy," and no, "Peter, you almost killed Tris," and no, "Peter, you insufferable psychopathic asshole- you almost killed Tris Prior!"

Peter stopped and nodded to Eric. "Pity. She only screamed, not a tear was shed," Peter rasps beside my ear when he passes me.

"Oh, cut it out," I grit out, shoving his shoulder. "You're not tough- you're just-"

"Initiate!" Eric yells.

Peter looks as if he'll strike back but he doesn't. Eric says, "The fight is between Tris and Peter, not you and Peter. Quit it and clear her off of the mat,"

"Yeah Christina," he whispers in an innocent way like he can do no wrong like he's the one who tells the truth. The way he always did when we were kids. "No fighting,"

"How do you even live with yourself?" I glare at him, not even caring that Eric is talking.

Peter shrugs. "If you have time to glare at me, you have time to help her,"

Despite how terribly he put it, he is right. I almost punch him in the gut but Tris is the main priority. I push past him and rush to Tris. Al is already there and I know she needs a doctor. And morphine. Lots of it.

Eric looks at Peter and has a few choice words for him. I get less worried. He came through. But that's shattered when he claps Peter's back and grins at him. I shake my head and carefully drag Tris to the edge of the mat. Al and I crouch over her. I have no idea where Will is. Everyone's just starting.

Her ear is bleeding a bit. Her nose seems a bit crooked. Her eye is swelled up and a plum purple color. She's also groaning audibly when we move her.

"Would you volunteer to be in her spot now?" I ask, stroking her cheek. I'm sorry, Tris. I am so sorry.

Al is green while looking at the unconscious Tris. "No," he shakes his head. "Never,"

Something about the image I had of Al breaks. What kind of lover is he?

"I would, a million times over," I say simply. "Even with the beating, I got with Molly," I add.

I would so volunteer.

Four's navy blue eyes became a shade darker when he stares at Peter then at Tris. At least he has values and he realized Peter went too far. Unlike Eric. Four is about to help me take Tris to the infirmary but Eric uses the authority act to stop him. They argue again and Eric tells him to stay with the initiates and start with the next fight. Al fights someone but I don't know who it is. I don't care at the moment.

I can't carry her or get her to the infirmary quickly but no one offers to help. If I will carry her alone, I will. So what. It's just pain.

I get about four or five feet out the door before Eric comes around and plucks her out of my arms. He takes her and picks her up like she's some rag doll or a vitamin pill.

I protest but he says, "Magic word in effect now,"

That shuts me up.

And I don't talk, I just wobble after him. "Why didn't you stop him?" I hiss after traveling through the blue-lit hallways. I feel like he's taking a long way. And I can't even look at him.

"We cannot coddle initiates, Rookie. That is how we fail our soldiers. We do not coddle. Dauntless never have, we never will,"

"Well... you can save them. Always," I protest.

He shakes his head and acts like I am a naive child. "This is saving them. Do you think our enemies and criminals coddle in the real world? Do you think they go easy on us?"

"Well- no," I say quickly. He turns away like the discussion is over but I keep on talking. "But this isn't the war, this isn't the real world. This is the initiation,"

"Initiation isn't made to be flowery," he chastises me. "It is made to stimulate and prepare the Dauntless for the real world and for war,"

I cross my arms since my ribs don't hurt as much. "There hasn't been war in ages," I argue.

"Wars are everywhere. War may even be happening right now," he hums.

"Will Dauntless prepare us for that?" I ask in the hallway, stopping. "Will you prepare me for that?"

"We'll see, Rookie," he says. There's a dangerous glint in his eye. I hate that.

What does that even mean? The more we talk, the more confused I get of him. I ignore that, shoving it out of my focus. "You both didn't need to be so harsh," I say.

"Harsh is all we ever are. And keep your chin down and away from your opponent's fist," he says, waiting for me to keep pace with him. "Keep those knuckles taped up. Let's get your stiff friend to the infirmary," he waits a bit, expecting me to follow him.

I don't. I'm not going anywhere with him. I turn around and walk away, without even looking back.

Eric ignores me when he sees me again. He simply passes me. Gold wasn't worth anything compared to the luxury of him leaving me alone. That reaction meant so much more. I sigh in relief. He makes me dizzy and confused.

He dropped Tris off and came back. I ignored the way he shot me a pointed glare.

I shoot one of my own and huff.

* * *

 

When I get back to the arena, Al's on the losing side. He loses. Without a fight, without grace. I'm mad- more than he currently is. He fought Drew. Drew has been a horrible little shit to Tris with his little gang. He knows how bad he was and he didn't want to fight. I knew it would be a train wreck. He doesn't even try! He takes a few hits and falls but doesn't get back up.

Eric smirks, thinking it was a joke. Then- then he really gets mad, shouting at him. Even Four isn't happy so he doesn't stop Eric from trying to stop Al from throwing away the fight.

Al already threw it away, no matter how much Eric yelled.

I wonder if he's the same person that knocked out Will. Then I wonder if he wants to be in Dauntless. Then I wonder if I am any better since I basically did that with Molly.

But I am not like Al, I did get bloodied, I got bruised and hurt. I fought and tried. I tried and he didn't. He didn't want to try.

I almost gave Eric an encouraging nod but quickly stopped myself.

He is never right. He's too awful for that noble word.

After a couple of people fought; I lost to Will. He punched me in the jaw, which really hurt! Al stood near to me but I couldn't help but get upset at our conversation earlier and how he's acting.

I don't get it. He wants her to be a damsel in distress but he would never volunteer to save her. He likes her but thinks she's not brave. Or he does think she's brave and he doesn't like it? And he doesn't want to lose but he won't fight.

Maybe Eric was a bit right.

It hurts too much to think about it.

I talk with Will for the rest of the time, hoping Al doesn't notice I'm judging him.

Since Tris is knocked out, and I am questioning Al, I want to be alone. Will is there but we don't really talk. He's been flirting with a girl that has a shaved head. It makes me feel strangely left out. Like I should be the girl on the other end of the smooth lines.

So I leave and wander around, thinking. I wish I could ask my sister. She's only a year younger. She knows what I feel. Maybe she can be stuck up and kind of a know-it-all, she knows me.

Tris is fun but she can be emotionless sometimes. She's super quiet, which is unlike me. I want someone who wouldn't just shoot me strange glances after I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

Is she even used to me?

I miss home. I miss my mom's home-cooked unhealthy food and my dad's long talks, even the long lectures that I used to slam the door over. I wish, I wish we could fight at least one more time.

My eyes burn but I am not crying. I should be crying.

I am in the bathrooms, letting the water run all over me. I feel dirty. It also eases the pain and my tears mix in and wash away.

It's true that I've never felt more alive- more free than I've ever imagined.

The moment my blood sizzled on the coal rocks on the choosing day, I knew it would be awesome. Maybe my parents didn't approve, I already was honest and told them I didn't care.

Me at sixteen and I'm already living up to the stereotypes of belligerent teenage girls mouthing off to their overwhelmed parents about nothingness.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

But that was before I left. I miss them so much, I feel like I might die.

Then there's Eric and I want to shoot him with the gun Four taught us to use.

There's something about how he's stupidly relevant to my life.

Then the fact that he's so hot and cold.

When he's hot... all the time? He's so tall, dark and handsome as hell. He had bold tattoos all over. His shirts fit so well and he's got nice eyes. Gray and cloudy. It makes me wonder if he didn't smoke and drink alcohol if he'd smell like rain.

Then he wrapped up my arms, helped me carry Tris and he stopped me from Peter pummeling me to shreds.

I can still feel the ghost sprints of his touch burning my hip and lower back.

Then there's every other thing. He's always so cold.

He calls me stupid and a coward. He made me hang over the chasm. He also let Tris get hurt. He also acts like a condescending loser.

That's when I hear someone come in. I don't bother looking.

It's Molly.

I turn around and something in me sets off. I slam her against the black wall tiles of the slippery bathroom walls.

She completely is taken off guard and I say, "You and your stupid friends to not threaten Tris anymore,"

Molly narrows her eyes and glares me down. We're basically the same height but she has like so many pounds on her. Okay, maybe not so much. She's just thick.

She flicks her head. "You must have lost brain cells when I knocked you down because you're being a hypocrite. You're threatening me,"

I back away and shake my head, "If you hate me, hate me. Not them. Not Tris and the rest of my friends, okay?"

"Why should I listen to you?" Molly says, pushing me away.

We stand on opposite ends of the steamy, humid room.

"Cause I'll mess your life up," I say simply, baring my teeth. "And Peter's and Drew's,"

"Yeah right. You can never do any damage. At least not to the extent of what I did to your face,"

"True," I say, crossing my arms and nodding.

Molly looks so surprised that she says, "Who knew we'd ever agree?" she says, sourly.

"Stop right there, Molly," I gestured to my bruised jaw. "This is what you did. This is temporary. I'm sorry to say for your face, it's not the same. You were born that way,"

Her jaw drops and I feel ruthless.

I walk out of the bathroom not being saying; "Unless you want your lifelong situation to get worse, I suggest you leave us alone,"

I feel pain in my jaw. I need an ice pack.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	3. Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christina sees more of Eric and a strange side of Peter

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 3-  
Wondering

* * *

After getting changed, I meet Tris at the Dauntless infirmary. She has her own bed and there are curtains on either side of us.

Instead of sitting on the edge of the bed as I did, Al and Will settle on the right side of her with the comfy chairs. They hadn't thought it was appropriate for them to sit on her bed. Come on, they've probably done worse things with girls on their beds. I sit on the bed with an ice pack on my jaw.

I keep the events that occurred in the showers private. I want to tell Tris but I have some feeling that she'll get offended.

So I don't say anything. I keep a steady grip on my jaw.

Will beams from the other side of the room. "Come on, you can't be mad,"

"I'm not mad. I'm hurt," I huff. Why do people keep on aiming for my jaw? Maybe I should keep my chin down like Eric said. There he goes being warm again.

Will and Al exchange glances for a moment. "Oh- don't take it like that. Forget that I am a girl and think. I am in pain," I groan my answer.

"Is it that time of the month?" Will asks. "Females tend to become irritable and nauseous during their menstrual-"

I try not to punch him. "Will stop talking or I will leave the room without taking you to dinner,"

"You want to eat?" he raises a brow.

"Yeah. You coming or not?" I ask, impatient.

"I can eat," Will shrugs. "Do you need to stop and change your-"

I took a loose pillow and throw it at him. Will throws it back to me. I throw it back to him, harder.

"You both aren't thinking. No- I don't need to do anything for you. My face hurts since Molly and you, Will won your fights by punching me in the face. I can only eat soft foods, I feel like an old person," I sigh.

"You're fine. You don't look a day over seventy," he says.

"You don't move like an eight-year-old," I laugh. "Where'd you get the hip replacement? And you have all of your nice hair. You're amazing, Will."

Will smiles softly despite us arguing. I get confused.

Tris groans and I notice first. She's a wreck. She opens one eye and the other is shut. She looks tired and in pain. Her eyes wander all over the room and she sags a bit.

She lifts her gaze to me. "What happened to your face?" she murmurs.

She's too sweet. Why wouldn't Al want her?

She doesn't even bother thinking about herself. Still Abnegation. She's such a better person than me. I would have totally screamed if we switched places. Al wouldn't switch places with her, though. That makes me nervous.

I laugh to cover up my awkwardness. "Look who's talking. Should we get you an eye patch?" I joke, to ease up my nerves.

"Well, I already know what happened to my face," she says, a small smile spread on her pink lips. "I was there. Sort of."

"Did you just make a joke, Tris?" Will says and he offers a breezy, loud laugh. "We should get you on painkillers more often if you're going to start cracking jokes. Oh, and to answer your question-I beat her up."

Al looks kind of disappointed. "I can't believe you couldn't beat Will," Al says, shaking his head.

I look at Al. I am not sure whether or not to scowl or smile. Should I say something about earlier? Should I talk about him and Tris? Should I ignore him? I should answer already.

I answer him but I am considerably subdued. "What? He's good," I say, trying to sound normal and casual. I add in a casual shrug. "Plus, I think I've finally learned how to stop losing. I just need to stop people from punching me in the jaw."

Earlier, Will got one hit punch on my jaw which made me collapse. I fell because my jaw was tender and it hurt.

I lost, again. It made me feel sick. I think about Eric saying about keeping my chin down and away from the fists. He was right. That was why I lost. One calculated punch or kick could end me.

It's getting less cold but I still hold it to my jaw. I clutch the ice pack tighter. Great. Now I have to thank him for two things.

"You know, you'd think you would have figured that out already." Will winks at me and I want to laugh, so I do. "Now I know why you aren't Erudite. Not too bright, are you?"

I get the pillow again and mock throw it. He laughs and braces himself. I like his laugh but it's not deep and rich like caramel.

"You feeling okay, Tris?" Al says.

I look at him sharply.

Tris looks thankful that he asked aloud. I know she's in pain but won't say much. "Yeah," Tris says, stoic as ever. "Just wish I could stay here forever so I never have to see Peter again."

I want to sigh. It's fine to show emotion. She doesn't have to hide- we're her safe place. However, it gives me a sense of peace that she's fine. I have no idea what her idea of 'feeling okay' is but I know it's vastly different than mine.

Maybe I'm looking too closely or the devil is in the details.

They get caught in a moment and Tris and Al share meaningful looks. A private moment. I can't intrude or interrupt.

Finally, without any thought, Will interrupts. "Don't worry about Peter. He'll at least get beat up by Edward, who has been studying hand-to-hand combat since we were ten years old. For fun."

Well. Well. Well. Looks like I don't have to mess Molly's life up; Edward will.

Nice, how the tables turn. I grin to myself and find Will having the same devious smirk. He's such a good friend. I am suddenly enthusiastic.

"Good," I say, almost purring.

Destiny calls. Karma is waiting for Peter to pick up.

Then I remember. I check my watch. After my shower, I took off the tape and bandages. When I took those off, I took two more painkillers with water.

"I think we're missing dinner. Do you want us to stay here, Tris?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I'm fine."

I don't believe her but Will's already at the door and I promised him a dinner.

He's eager and I don't want to go since it means leaving Tris. I turn and look at her straight in the eye. "I-... Tris, if I were in that arena with Peter, and got the same injuries you got, I would still volunteer again and again."

"You'd take my place?" she asks, kind of surprised.

"Yeah,"

"Me too," Al says.

I shoot a confused glance at him. What? Does he? Would he? Why did he lie? I nod, understanding. He wants to look brave in front of Tris.

"Do you think I can't fight for myself?" Tris asks, cheeks flaming and tone surprising cold. "I can fight. I can beat them."

"I think you can fight for yourself. You're stellar at that and you're not dead, are you?" I ask and I stop at the door. "When you get hurt, that's when I wish it were me, instead."

"Oh," Tris says, getting flushed. She's embarrassed.

I leave before I can ruin anything further.

* * *

Before I leave the dorm, I'm still clutching onto the ice pack that was given to me. It's plastic, the size of my foot and hot since I've been holding it for so long. I shrieked at Will who thought it was funny to throw it out. He didn't throw it because I used a shoe to stop him.

It worked. I like throwing shoes.

I walk away, without Will or Al. They have some sweet bromance moments in the cafeteria as I left. Al joined us at dinner and it became fun. Still, I needed to find Eric to at least thank him. At least one of us should be nice.

I get three steps out of the cafeteria's double doors and spot someone. Eric. He catches my eye I nod.

It's dark. I'm a bit tired. I can't see clearly but it's alright.

"Why are you following me?" Eric turns around and slams me into the jagged rock of the pit wall.

"Ow!" I say, aware of how my head feels all cottony. And sort of wet. "Is this how you react when someone's trying to thank you? You know what- nevermind because fuck you!"

I try to move away from him but he's blocking me from leaving. He has multiple tattoos but not the one Eric has. He doesn't have a single piercing on his lip. And his hair is brown.

Oh my lord- in the blue glow, I realize that it isn't Eric. They just look so similar, it's uncanny. He doesn't smell like cigarettes and authority.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks.

I could say the same, but I don't. "I- oh. I am sorry," I apologize. "Let me go. Now."

"You can't hunt me down just 'cause I'm special," He shoves me harder. "And no, you're not sorry. You just sorry you got caught. What's your agenda?"

I just gape at him.

He shoves me again. "Who sent you?" he demands.

"Nobody. Take a chill pill and relax," I say. He's really testing my patience. I just want to go and avoid both Erics.

He slurs his words but he's not drunk. "You're not pretty enough to be this stupid or that bad of a liar," he gets increasingly furious as words spill out of his mouth.

"I thought you were someone else," I tell him, hoping to calm him down.

That sets him off. "Who do I look like to you?! Are you dumb and blind?" The man yells.

"Say that again and I'll break your kneecaps," I snap. I push him away with all of my fading might. "I wasn't sent. I thought you were someone else, honest but I don't have the time or crayons to explain it to you."

"What did you just say to me?"

"Fine! I can explain it to you but I can't understand it for you. Is that what you want to hear?!"

He slams my head against the damn corridor wall and says, "You'll never catch me alive."

"Get off of me," I shout. I finally knee him in the stomach and say, "Leave me alone."

When he doesn't fall, I aim for his jaw. I accidentally catch his eye.

"You bitch," he yells.

I knee him in his man parts and sprint away. My only thought is to survive, survive, survive.

"I'll kill you," he hisses.

That doesn't stop him for long as I surge through the crowd.

"Someone- stop him! He said he'll kill me," I shout.

People look at me like I am crazy. And they do nothing. They go back to their conversation. I finally find Molly and Drew near getting food, Peter is alone, stalking towards the exit. I hesitate but I repeat the same words to him.

Peter's looks at me and says, "Good."

"You good for nothing-" I cut myself off.

I run away and collide with someone's chest. It was Four. I've never been more grateful to see him.

I apologize and he looks annoyed. Four does not like me. That's what take precedence when I am about to die. I may have caused this dislike but he perpetuates it.

He sends me a death glare for a few moments and me back away and then moves forward.

"Sorry, sorry," I apologize sweetly.

"Watch your feet, Candor," Four says.

"There's just- nevermind. I have to go," I say.

Beside Four is Eric and I rush behind Eric.

Four pulls my arm and I have to look at him. I suddenly do not want to speak.

"What happened? Where's the fire?" Four asks.

I notice that his eyes are quite magnificent under his lashes- which strikes me as odd since he's not as blond-

Focus.

"There's no fire, it's just a guy," I pant. "He's-"

"We have real matters to attend to, not teenage problems," Eric says. He turns to a concerned Four. "Where were we?"

I pant and cut my words in. "I was talking and he said he'll kill me-"

"Rookie, did you talk? Say anything, anything at all?" he asks, eyes shining with irritation.

I nod.

Eric shrugs and says, "That's probably why."

I shove him away and say, "I don't want your help."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! What do I do now? I just cursed at the one help I could get.

I want to walk away but Eric clasps my arm. "Who is he?" he asks.

"Some guy that freaked out after I believed him to be someone I know. He said he'll kill me for 'following him' and he went insane,"

Then he's coming through the crowd, shoving people and cursing at them. "Where's she? Where's the black bitch?" The insane man bellows.

My eyes widen as I see him. "That's him!"

Eric scowls and I know Eric knows him.

One Dauntless steps up and tells him to piss off but the crazy man knocks them out with one hit. Then two others are pushed so hard, they fall onto the floor of the cafeteria before the monster man.

Eric looks at me then says, "Him?"

I nod so quickly so many times, my neck aches. "Do something!" I whisper in fear.

The attacker gets through those people and I know it's bad. He charges for me and I am frozen. He's getting closer.

Suddenly, Peter sticks his leg out.

The bull of a man had tunnel vision and he failed to notice Peter's foot. He was that concentrated on killing me. He falls onto the cement- face first.

As he approaches, I skitter, desperate for someone to help me.

I don't run away but I am partially hidden behind Eric. I hate that but I can't move.

The insane man stands up and growls. "Looks like the dog returned to the master,"

Everyone's staring at me and I sigh, trying to look brave.

"I didn't do anything. Why are you trying to kill me?" I ask.

"They already got their hooks in you since you work for them."

"Don't we all?" I say. "Actually, I'm just an initiate who doesn't have any ties. What's your damage, why try killing me, jerk-off?!"

He doesn't have an answer.

"We argue, we brawl and fight but we do not kill other Dauntless," Eric says slowly. His voice is loud but low and meaningful. Everyone nods. "You do not kill members of your own faction."

The insane man flinches and I hide even more behind Eric. He seems to be in control. That makes me breathe. It calms me. That scares me.

"We can forget this. You can walk off without punishment, walk away clean. You have to just surrender the knife," Eric instructs and it feels like he's getting through to Hugh. "Walk away Hugh. Walk away."

Hugh looks at me, resentfully and slowly. It makes me shiver. "No. Never. She has to pay."

My heart drops and my stomach does a somersault.

"What might that be for, Hugh?" Eric asks, jaw set.

"I hate you and your ties with Erudite," Hugh spits the words. "All of you- fools for believing in the snake that was Eric."

"Was?" Eric asks.

"Yes was! After I kill her, I'll kill you!" he promises.

I shake my head and Eric looks calm. "Restrain him," Eric says quietly to the Dauntless guards at the door.

Everyone clenches their fists but Four comes up from behind him and sticks a gun-like weapon to Hugh's neck.

"Night Hugh," Four says numbly. He seems bewildered by the man's actions. My heart won't stop pounding.

Hugh falls, legs crumpling underneath him. Four side-steps the body and shakes his head.

I swallow because my throat is dry. "Did you kill him?" I ask, my voice small and scared.

"Nope. It's from Erudite, a gun that injects some substance to knock them out," he tells me.

Unbeknownst to the others, I heave a sigh of relief.

"Good," I say to myself.

If they killed him, I would have felt so guilty.

"I don't kill," he adds quietly after pursing his lips.

We pause and Four stands over Hugh. I haven't noticed everyone staring at us, crowding us.

"Everyone- carry on. This will be taken care of. We will be investigating Hugh," Eric announces, having to be the one that calms the water.

Everyone's still, including me. Eric looks annoyed. "It's quiet. Is this an Erudite library? Carry on as you were," he says. More like orders.

Everyone minds their own business.

Still, Peter, Four, Eric and I stand over Hugh.

Eric moves a bit and I find that his movement vibrates through me. "You can let go now," Eric says in a low tone.

What?

He tugs on his right arm and I jump away. My hand was clasped around his bulging bicep. My fingers thrummed with heat as I flex them. The circulation returned and I know I held on tight. He took it without complaint. He wore a leather jacket and I wore black so no one could see what I did.

I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets. No more having loose hands around Eric.

"Can I go now?" I ask, not wanting to be around Hugh or Eric. They both seem like a threat. Eric wasn't dangerous- I just know I shouldn't be around him if I have incidents of touching him.

Four nods after Eric doesn't answer. Eric looks reflective as he stares at Hugh's potato-sack body.

Four nods. "You can go."

Peter nods to Eric and walks away.

As soon as I am released, I go up to Peter. Peter catches me glaring at him so he walks away faster.

I look at him and cross my arms. "Why did you do that?"

"Be grateful you're not mincemeat," Peter says. "Or you wanted to be killed by Hugh?"

"You didn't have to. For that, I owe you one," I whisper, meaning it. "Tha-"

"Don't get it twisted. I did it for self-preservation and for the good of Dauntless," Peter says. "The only thing you owe me is a 'thanks' for making you factionless,"

He stalks off and I want to throw him into a black hole.

"Asshole," I mutter. "Remind me never to say thank you again."

He didn't get far but he was close enough to hear me. "Hey, Christina, never say thank you again," Peter says and gives me three quick looks. "I'd keep you safe, you know that?"

I'd keep you safe? What? Before I can ask about that, Peter sends me a long look that... feels familiar. His green eyes shine at me. So awkward. I turn around, trying my best just ignore what the dimwit said. I'd keep you safe. That makes no sense.

Seeing Eric standing there makes me forget my train of thought instantly. How is he capable of that- being calm in the face of danger? Why did Hugh attack me? I'm so very puzzled and I know I won't get any stupid answers. So, I walk away. It's best if I go back to the dorms.

But I don't want to go.

I go to the infirmary. I pass by the same hallway that I met Hugh in. The stupid ice pack is still there. I pick it up. Perhaps I won't say 'thank you,' from now on. Every time I have, it resulted in disaster.

I also need to avoid him. Everyone.

I don't have as much of a limp as I make it to the familiar nurse's station. I think about seeing Tris again.

I get to the nurse's station and Eric is arguing with a nurse. The nurse isn't fighting back but she isn't conforming to what he's saying. They talk loudly and I can't make out their words as I walk at a slower pace.

What are they arguing about? Why must Eric be rude? I'm more surprised by the fact someone has not allowed themselves to be subjected to his words and orders.

I make eye contact with him. I panic and dart away. I make the mistake of looking back and I notice that as Eric makes his way to me.

"Stop Rookie," he orders.

I sigh.

I get flashes of him giving me the stupid ice pack after my fight. He gave it to me and it's useless but I can't throw it away.

I sigh. He then grabs my wrist, not roughly or tightly so I pull away.

"Don't touch me," I hiss.

He shakes his head. "It's only okay when you do it?" he scoffs.

My cheeks burn and I am so glad he'll never see that. I'm speechless and he drags me to a makeshift hospital bed. There are curtains hiding us from the rest and he talks in a low tone.

I cross my arms, still holding the ice pack. "What do you want?" I ask, putting distance between us.

We're on both sides of the empty hospital bed. I like that. Then I realize my hands are out, I stuff them into my pockets. I can't take any chances.

"You cannot talk to me in that fashion. You are still a lowly Rookie and I am a Dauntless Leader."

I honestly don't care but his voice is like frost again so I concede.

"Fine. Sir," I spit.

Eric scowls. "We need to talk about what Hugh said to you," Eric says.

"He didn't say anything. He thought I was working for 'them'," I tell him.

"Who do you suppose 'they' are?"

I shrug. "His demons. Imaginary friends. The usual."

Eric doesn't even change his tense exterior. He's still furling his eyebrow like Will does. He's super angry.

"Don't lie," he snaps.

"You know when I am lying," I snarl. "We're both human lie-detectors anyway. I don't look into everything and every detail. That's why I'm not in Erudite. And it happened so fast- oh."

"What?" he jumps on my memory.

I wince at the memory. His breath smelt so bad- not Eric's. Eric smells like coffee.

I tilt my head to the side, suddenly feeling so cold. "He did say something about 'them' hunting him down for being special."

Eric perks up and I want to know why. "Do you know what he implied with those oddly phrased words?"

Dauntless don't kill Dauntless so I have no idea why he would be so paranoid. He had a knife on him. He had to steal that from the arms/weaponry wing. He kept on muttering about being followed. He also got suspicious of me. He also said that we're all fools for trusting Eric.

I don't trust Eric.

However, he has ties with Erudite. Erudite and Candor get along. They like facts and we like the truth. It happens to work out perfectly since the facts are the absolute truth. It wasn't rare for Erudite and Candor to work together in our society. The factions are not at each other's throats like the Abnegation and Erudite are or how the Candor and Amity fight.

Why would Dauntless be working with Erudite? Erudite thinks we're big dumb jocks who play with rocks. Why would Eric be tied with Erudite?

"Dauntless don't kill Dauntless and he tried to kill me. There's the fact that I accidentally followed him. That's probably what set him off."

Eric nods and I know I am getting better at hiding facts. It makes me feel proud. If this were my first day at Dauntless, Eric would have known all my deepest, darkest secrets. But it's not. And I'm not spilling anything.

"Why were you following him? Was it because he looked like someone you know?" Eric asks and raises an eyebrow, prodding deeper. "Who was he?"

You.

I don't want to answer, so I won't. Now that I really look, I don't know how I thought it was Eric. Why would I even go up to him? Why does he need my thanks?

Why did he do things that deserved my thanks? Then again- he almost indirectly killed me. That's enough reason and evidence to stay away.

I look away after biting my lip. "None of your business," I say because it was the truth and I couldn't lie to him.

Eric was about to say something but his eyes widen and demands, "Turn around. Rookie, just do it."

I grumble about him being so bossy as I turn around. It feels nerve-wracking to have my back turned to him. I don't like this feeling of vulnerability. I hate being vulnerable. Feeling vulnerable... is way worse.

"You never tend to your obvious injuries, do you?" he scoffs.

"What?"

"Rookie- you're bleeding," he tells me.

I reach up with my left hand and the ice pack falls out of my pocket. He stares at it.

He flexes an eyebrow. "Why do you have the ice pack?" he questions.

"No reason," I bring my hand down and observe it.

Splotches of red colour my fingers. I wish I were more shocked ay my injuries. But I'm not. I figure I've been in Dauntless way too long. Or too little since I am still getting hurt.

"Guess I am," Bleeding, I don't tell him.

"I'll send a nurse," he says.

He then pauses without another word. He stops at the door and comes back.

This time, he broke the rules of personal space. My personal bubble was popped. He stands close enough that I feel the heat but far enough that we're not touching. And for some reason, I don't move away.

Instead, I stare at his stupid, stupid overcast eyes.

His mouth's corners turn down. He's scowling while looking like he's thinking hard. I don't know why he looks so... ponderous.

"Don't get yourself hurt or get involved with the Dauntless and Erudite conundrum," he says lowly, so no one could hear.

"There's a conundrum?" I ask. What's going on? Why did Hugh say something similar?

"Don't get yourself hurt," he whispers instead of answering. "Hold onto the ice pack as a keepsake, you're going to need it if you do."

"It's not a keepsake. It's useless," I say back. He can't get any ideas.

"Who are you trying to convince? If it means nothing, why don't you throw it away?" Eric asks.

I hear the smugness and feel the arrogance.

I open my mouth and lean back, surprised at how close we are. I can hear his heartbeat. It's slow. Mine, it's pounding too hard. He probably hears it. I forget to answer because I don't have one.

He leans in closer. "Thought so."

He leaves for good.

I let out a breath of anxiety. I can't breathe when he's near. He should stop doing that. All the air returns to me and I kick away the fallen ice pack.

The nurse does come in and it's the same one I had after my fight with Molly. She's also the same one that was arguing with Eric.

I can't help but ask why she was arguing and she says, "Eric was looking for you. He said you'd bleed out if we didn't find you. It was an extreme exaggeration of your injuries and we believed you were in a critical state."

To which I say, "I only need some bandages."

She hums, laughing. "His lies weren't true so I deduce that was how he saw the cuts. He forced me to get out of surgery to heal you."

"He did?"

"Yes," she nods, shaking her head. That's why they were arguing.

"Why would he do that?"

She smiles carefully. "You know how men are with their girlfriends- they fight and hate but they care when you get hurt so much. Too much."

"He's- okay. Just heal me," I say, ignoring how my heart kind of smiled.

* * *

Despite feeling like I am going to die -the next morning- I am in the training room, working with my shins and calves. My knuckles are still healing.

I hear the door open and I turn around, ready to yell. "Please leave!"

Oh... Fuck.

It's some Dauntless pair of children walking around.

"We just want our ball," one girl says, terrified.

I apologize and sigh. I'm such a monster.

The two girls stare at me, wide-eyed and trembling. I show a smile and shake my head. "Sorry... I thought you lovely ladies were a man I am currently really mad at," I say.

Unexpectedly, the two girls laugh at my words. "Boys are good at making girls mad!" One girl says, chortling.

I nod. "Right. I didn't want that man coming in. You know what, you guys can play. I'm not mad at you,"

They seem relieved.

Soon, Eric comes in and I shake my head. The girls who were just messing around stop and drop everything, running towards me.

"Is that him?" One girl asks.

I nod. "Yep, bingo."

"What's that?" The girl with velvet hair asks me.

I didn't know how to explain it, so I just gazed at her for a while. "Uh. It means... you got something right," I say awkwardly.

I'm not sure I'm right. I just turn to the punching bag, hoping they don't take my words as truth.

"Good to know," she says and they run off. They suddenly stop to turn and look at me. "If you're mad at him, we're mad at him too," she adds.

I laugh. Kids can be the worst but they can also be the best.

Giving in to my curiosity, I glimpse over my shoulder to look at Eric.

Just like me, he's wearing all black. I chose to wear a fitted tank-top, simple black yoga pants and a jacket that zips all the way to my chin. I am barefoot and I make an effort to paint my toenails- black as well.

Despite noticing how good he looks, I ignore him.

"Rookie, did you get the proper attention for your injuries?" Eric interrogates me, in a subtle way.

I nod. "You didn't need to harass my nurse."

"Would you have gotten looked at, otherwise?" Eric sighs, crossing his arms. "With you, I feel like a babysitter looking after a troublesome child."

"Do not complain when one volunteers to be the babysitter," I hiss, glaring at him over my shoulder.

Anger flashes in his eyes. "You cannot speak to me that way."

"Sorry, Sir. I beg your pardon," I whisper. I turn around to look at fully face him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He narrows his eyes because he knows I am being so, so sarcastic. "Your hands need to be taped," he says simply.

Oh yeah. I walk to him and it's silent. I don't speak, he doesn't speak. We don't squabble, maybe a bit. He taped my knuckles up and I nod to him.

"Sir, why do you care? You don't have to," I say.

His fingers float over mine and he pauses before he ignores my prying stare. "Don't mistake this for caring," he tells me sternly. And with that, he pauses and looks up at me. "You believe me to be nice?"

"I'd never," I say, sombre and low. "Others would-since you're doing this. So I'm asking for them- not me."

He just ignores what I said and carries on.

A melodic peal of laughter gets echoed, the source being from the two girls. Honestly, it's alarming- how innocent and charmed and free they sound.

For some reason, my gaze trains on them. They are so... peaceful and happy.

"Sitting on minefields" my mother always muttered under her breath when she passed the Dauntless black tattoos. They're on the minefields and they're happy. So ha, mother.

My parents never agreed with Dauntless. They get tattoos too young, they're all loud and they have guns- my mother hates guns and crime and people. Dauntless has always seemed so free... When thinking about them- that's all I thought about.

It's so weird. They're comfortable... playing in a room full of weapons and scarred men and women... without a care in the world.

Do they know how things are going to be when the choosing day comes? Will they know how they have to undo, unravel their identity and know thyself... They're going to switch out those crayons for cigarettes.

They haven't seen anything yet...

I return my focus to Eric. Why is he doing this? He is... just the opposite of doting but that's what he's doing at the moment- caring.

"Cough it up, I just want to know," I sigh loudly.

"Why don't you just drop it?" he snaps.

I watch him, wondering what he truly is like.

I'm seeing the Dauntless man with snarls for words. I see the leader whose authority cannot be challenged. I don't and can't see Eric who is an awkward teenager.

When will I meet the real Eric?

Is Eric himself mean and aggressive? Is he truly kind and nurturing? Is he just a jerk? It's impossible to tell since he flip-flops between the three.

There are acts without a motive. They are just pure evil. There are acts without malice or motive. They are pure... and genuinely kind. Why is he doing this?

He begins openly fidgeting under my stare. I don't stop because I want to know... Who is this man?

"About Hugh... Seems he is has some sort of delusion of grandeur... The doctors are calling for Schizophrenia."

"Oh that's why he attacked me?"

Eric gives a short nod.

Before I could ask, the girls accidentally kick their ball towards us. The ball touches Eric's leg and Eric glares at the girl.

I look at the girl. "Oh, sorry, honey," I say.

I pass and briefly shove Eric away, strings of bandage come lose. He scoffs.

"You couldn't have waited until I was done?" he grunts.

It's such a nightmare come true. "They need their ball right now," I tell him.

"They could get it themselves," he protests.

Yeah... but that's what he would say and do and I am not him. I flounce toward the bright orange ball. I pick it up and grin.

"Here kids," I call out to them. "Enjoy it."

The ball bounces to them and they grin. "Thanks!" they simultaneously call out.

The kids stare at me then at Eric, as if waiting for something big. The child with red-velvet coloured hair holds the ball, tightly. The other girl is more curious-looking and challenges Eric by glaring at him without shifting her gaze.

The one holding the ball gets out of her trance and elbows the other girl in the rib. They linger while Eric looks at me pointedly. He wants to re-wrap my hands. They look like they... want to... ask a question?

"What is it?" I ask softly, leaning down to hear them properly.

The girl protests and kicks the training center's mat.

"Talk, Chadow," the girl with the orange ball says, more confident.

Chadow's curled black hair is a cloak around her shoulders and she avoids Eric's gaze. "Cherry and I wonder- cause our mama said Eric's supposed to be... the monsters in the closet!" Chadow says.

Amazingly, her dark green eyes stay on mine while sporting overalls and mismatched socks. Cherry has red hair, a brown dress that flows past her ankles.

Cherry asks, "Is it true?"

I can't help but laugh. A... These... ha, ha these girls think he's a monster. The girls laugh nervously. I grin at them and go between them, draping my arms across their shoulders. They're my new favourite people.

I squeeze them, another laugh escaping my mouth. He looks like he's about to murder me. I let him be annoyed. "Chadow and Cherry, you babes, run along,"

They stare at me.

"Before you go, know that... he's not that mean," I say. Eric is still growling, probably plotting their death. Mine as well. "Eric's not a monster."

"But he's scary," Cherry says.

I shake my head, smiling a bit. "There's no denying that. He's not a monster. Tell your lovely mom to quit spreading lies."

"Mommy never lies," Chadow says defensively.

"She can get things wrong," I say gently. I tip my head in their direction. "Look at him. Do monsters have feelings?"

Chadow bites on her lips for a little then looks up at me in earnest. "He looks like a tomato," Chadow replies quietly.

"A sad tomato," Cherry adds, fiddling with her dress.

Chadow shakes her head. "But... uh, who's going to be the monster under the bed?" she whines.

I look at her in the eye and lean in closer. "Me," I state and scare them. By throwing my hands out and just my fingers forward.

They run away, giggling and laughing. I take a deep breath to say something but he says, "Say one word and you can kiss your spot goodbye,"

"Can I take it to a movie or dinner first? I mean, we-"

"Just shut up,"

And- okay. Fine.

I nod and walk towards him. I sit down. He promptly bandages and tapes my wrist. I flex my wrist and go to the wall. Eric follows me as I pick up my water bottle. I take a long swig and notice that the air feels different on my skin. Goosebumps- I feel them.

"Act like that and you're not a monster. Maybe a hard-ass but I speak the truth," I say and put down the bottle.

I stand up and look at Eric, stretching a bit. He looks and I look at him.

In a subtle but exaggerated way, he pulls his eyebrows down. They're conjoined as he maintains direct and continuous eye contact. He advances in me slow, purposeful strides. I narrow my eyes and step backward, getting worried.

He moves so many times forward that my back is against the wall and he's staring down at me.

"I'm warning you," he says, his voice slightly dangerous.

"And I'm kidding you."

"I'm not buying that," he says, pursing his lips.

"I'm not selling," I say.

"I am not your friend or your buddy, don't pretend I am."

"Well good. No one wants a friend like you."

He slams his hand beside my ear, the loud sound causing me to flinch. He's encasing me here. No escape.

He gets angrier. "What are you trying to do? Trying to seduce me? Trying to get away from being a coward? Trying to get up in the ranks? Trying to get something?" Eric says, getting so close, glaring like he's trying to burn holes in my soul. He looks rabid. "What is your angle, what is your gain?"

These words make me look at him with red eyes.

"Look at you. No one would want to seduce," I holler. "If I'm going to get through initiation, it is no thanks to you. Don't push me off the building before I get to jump. I'm brave. I'll make it without your help."

"You need a damn parachute on the way down drove down this floor because you'll never make it. You're bringing a knife to a gun fight."

I look at him. "Maybe you aren't a monster, Eric. You're just a damn good bastard. Better yet, I'll shoot you with the gun I'll have when I'm Dauntless. So, in the meantime, stay the hell away from me."

I push past him and walk away.

* * *

The rest of the morning is monotone. I still keep the tape on my knuckles.

Tris doesn't sleep in the infirmary. She slipped into the dorms and sleeps, at around eight, after I've been planning Eric's murder. I couldn't believe him.

Why would I seduce him? Why would I be interested in him?

I tie her shoelaces and pray that Eric doesn't show up. He doesn't.

"Thanks," she gives me a weak smile.

We take a troop to the fences and Al says that he spotted Tris conversing with Four. I say it's no big deal. Al gets extremely jealous. And I couldn't be bothered.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	4. Paint Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They play paintballing. Christina wins.

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 4-  
Paint Balls

* * *

It's just before bedtime. I like the top bunk of mine. It's high and easy for my legs to swing off. The ceiling is black and I wonder why I am missing my old room. My mother and father said to clear my stuff up months before the choosing day since I won't miss them as much. We have zero stuff here. Unless we buy, we own nothing.

It makes me feel like a drifter.

I shouldn't have left anything on my bed. In my room. My hair band that's on the ground. I know they'll never leave. I know Rose will be depressed with me. My absence. My leaving. Was it a betrayal? I wanted to be more honest and to do that, I had to be brave.

Am I being brave?

What the hell am I doing here? Do I belong here?

No. That is what Eric wants me doing- doubting myself. I will never give him that pleasure. Never.

I belong here! I will get through initiation.

There's a roar; "Everybody up!"

I almost sigh. There is a stream of people coming into the dormitory room with flashlights. I know he's there.

Of course. Why is he here? It's lights out and I am so tired.

I can only take so much pain and verbal abuse. I am not happy to see him.

I slip off of my bunk and tread towards Tris. Tris lays in bed and she's staring, dazed. It's funny, how she made Eric so mad. I know, he knows he's angry. I like it.

Then he sees me out with a smirk and glares at Tris. I can't help but notice him in the glare of the flashlight. It shines behind his head and his piercings glow.

He looks hyped. Euphoria probably slipped under his tongue. He's perfumed with anticipation and excitement. Black's his color and his tattoos look darker. His hair is a mess but gently tousled and teased. His eyes look violet in this dim lighting.

I look away. Four's there. Eric goes off the rocker and demands, "Did you go deaf, Stiff?"

Tris raises an eyebrow and gets from under the black blanket. She looks at me, eyes saying, 'Really? Why's Eric like this?' and I roll my eyes, responding, 'Eric is a dick,' with a scoff.

He notices me glaring at him and shoots a challenging look. I send one of my own. Tris watches me again, eyes wide and I shrug. Him and I, we're problematic.

Then I realize I'm standing with my legs bare. My t-shirt. In the light of the flash, I know he can see me. Almost naked. And- and the ice pack's beside my shoes. I hadn't neatly tucked them away.

He sees it, pauses and I kick it away.

It's so annoying. My hair's a wreck, my gray shirt loose and I know he can see my bra and a sliver of my underwear. I want to know if he's impressed then I want to know how hard I can punch him without shattering my elbow. Since I can't have loose hands, I just cross my arms and lift my gaze to him.

"You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks," Eric says, not meeting my bold stare. "We're going on another field trip."

I roll my eyes. Are you kidding me?

The next few moments are a rush, I'm sprinting. We make it through the narrow pathways of the pit and through the blur, I know we're behind some Dauntless-born initiates. It feels cool. The night air feels cool and I'm wondering why everyone is so lively and energized. Is it something in the air?

I love it. Still, still- I want to sleep.

Then, with Tris panting, we pause at the tracks. Inquisitive, she gazes at the black mass beside the tracks and narrows her blue eyes. I see what's got her annoyed; there's a pile of guns.

I don't know what we're doing. It drives me crazy. I don't know whether or not to be happy or really worried. In that pile, there are long gun barrels and trigger guards.

I am worried. Are we going to get turned against one another? I don't want to.

I peer at her, scowling. "Are we going to shoot something?" I hiss.

Later, I realize we're using paintballs and not real pellets or bullets. It makes me feel good. Everything's calling out to me and I remember why I love the place so much.

I'm free.

I get to be loud cause my noise gets caught and carried by the wind. The streets and roads and houses don't change and I love the way the moon smiles at me. I swear the stars and skies.

I love the night time. You get to hide things. In Candor, it was so impossible to keep tiny secrets.

We aren't- humans aren't supposed to lie. It's a learned trait, a sign of dishonesty is a weakness. It's undesirable, as everyone I've met before I was fifteen said.

But maybe we didn't have to know or share everything. Sometimes, there's sweet comfort in not knowing. When we share, there's no mystery. There's no hunt or chase. We're just running for something. I don't know what but it will all merge.

Maybe details weren't meant to be said, maybe they're meant to be kept in the recesses of one's mind.

Maybe I didn't want everyone knowing that I didn't brush my teeth or that I got a really bad mark on my quiz that day or that my period hurt more than a shark biting on my fingers.

There are things I want to keep. Things I get to keep and the dark allows me to do that.

I don't have to lie but no one knows the truth. I breathe in the night air and grin. What a time to be alive.

"Everyone grab a gun!" Eric shouts.

On instinct, without thinking, I whip around and it's as though my eyes and his eyes are attracted by a magnet.

My eyes find his first, even in a crowd full of people looking at him.

We make eye-contact for three seconds. And he changes my mood again. I want to turn away and march back to the Dauntless headquarters but I know I can't.

So, I do what he tells me. I take a gun and a pack of paintballs. I mock point my gun at him. "Bang," I mouth, focusing on him. If I pulled the trigger, his stupid loudmouth would be covered with a happy yellow or iron red or river blue.

It would distract him from his Candor colors. He has silver eyes, like polished metal. And then when he's mad and I'm the spark, his eyes are like smoke- gray and full of heat.

It's quite wonderful really cause he just shifts his stare from me to the gun and grumbles, getting out of my sight.

Tris is pre-occupied with observing the crowd, as usual. Her gaze lingers on Four but I think nothing of it. I hope others do the same with me and Eric.

Why am I thinking about him? I glared furiously at the stupid ground. I'm wasting my thoughts.

"Time estimate?" Eric asks Four, eyes risen. He looks anxious- is this that fun?

Four lowers his gaze and looks at his watch. "Any minute now. How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?"

"Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?" Eric quips, kind of playfully. He pushes Four's shoulder. Friendly.

Four doesn't share the sentiment and moves away.

He has his moments when he's decent. So, I laugh but it pierces through the air. I cover it with a cough and turn away, getting impatient. Eric raises an eyebrow. I ignore how people look at me.

The train shows up and Four gets onto the train. Tris races afterward, without thinking of me. With the motion of the speeding train, she clasps Four's arm and he pulls her onto the train.

I stare. What was that all about? I want to ask about it but she's already in the train car. Everyone gets on but I'm still in shock.

I'm one of the last people to mount. I huff a bit, seeing Tris on the opposite end of the train car. Tris's quiet and by herself. Then I swallow my questions. Whatever. Maybe she wanted to get ahead, you never know.

I observe everything else, just standing millimeters away from the open cart entrance. The train jolts and dips but I'm standing there, on the edge. I'm being Dauntless. Eric waits and comes near, almost stepping on my heels. He was one of the last on but Eric's right behind me.

I step forward since I can't stay there forever.

When the train jostled again, a low breath of air escapes my lips. "Oh,"

It's one of the awkwardest feelings ever but it's a reverie. I feel like I'm caught in a storm. His breath was momentarily hot against the back of my neck. And I wonder if he's either being creepy or if I should ignore how warm he is.

The people are all around me. No one's paying heed and I don't care about them since I'm in my own little world with Eric.

It's painful.

I stand there for ten- two more moments until I decide it's over. I go my own way and he goes to his.

Once we're all on the train, Eric rests with Four.

Four clears his throat and explains; "We'll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag. Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same," Four says calmly, eyes glinting. He's hyped too. "This is a Dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously,"

I nod. Now I'm excited to play. I know I'll win. I want it.

Eric and Four name themselves as team captains and surprisingly, Tris gets chosen first. Let me say that again, Tris got chosen first by Four!

I dart my eyes at Eric. Would he do something as stupid and bold as that? When there's a short pause of low rumbling, low sounding laughter, I wonder if he'll choose me. I then want Eric's honorable and cleaner counterpart Four to not choose me but he doesn't.

Four chooses me second.

I scold myself for feeling slight disappointment.

I want to prove myself. I want to because I am doing so well. I will do well. But I can't bring myself to care about what else is going on around me.

They finish dividing the initiates and then Eric and Four split up the Dauntless-born and members.

We get off. Tris is in la-la land and I let her go off. I am at least on a team with Will. We have to choose a spot to scout out the flag.

Our team got off first. Two rough hands shove Tris out of the moving Train. At least, they attempted to. She stumbled a bit but jumps off before the person can try something.

Peter.

"Oops," he says, not looking sorry. "I hoped to encourage her to break a foot or her neck,"

I glare at him and say, "Don't do that again or I'll be pushing you off,"

Will hears the anger in my voice and gets close to me. "What happened? Are they bothering you?" Will asks, sending a protective glare at them.

For me. I don't want him involved. Plus, Molly quirked up a dark brow. What's so peculiar?

I shake my head. "Not important. We have a game to win, not losers to bicker with," I nod to Will and he jumps off.

"We'll win," Molly snorts. "Just like the fight we had,"

"No, you won't. You'll see me with the flag," I say, determined.

All Peter, Molly, and Drew do is laugh. Then other people are laughing and it gets to my head. They're always wheezing. I flick my eyes around the train car and Eric isn't laughing. I love that. He isn't laughing but he could still find it funny.

"You want them to stop," He looks nonchalant with his gun strap crossed against his firm chest. "Prove it," he states simply, his arms folded.

As if it's that easy. It's not.

I look away and mutter, "I will,"

And I jump off. I land on my feet and I feel graceful.

* * *

The wind feels cool against my skin and the pleasant night breezes soothe me.

I join the group with Will and the rest of them. Will looks at me and whispers, "What happened back there?"

I shrug. "I put the trash in its place,"

"Why were they laughing?"

"You heard laughing?" I cough. Were they that loud? Those harpies.

We walk around for a while until someone says to visit the navy pier. His brother won the game last year. The flag was at the carousel. Under Will's lead, we walk east.

Will and I have talked as the days went.

Were we just that easy?

Will walks closer to me than usual, chatting but I am not answering. Our shoulders brush and it's strange. I don't hate it but I don't want it either.

I try to give him grins, play it off like I'm not wondering about us or exactly uncomfortable.

Will's smart and nice. He teases me and we often get into arguments but I don't exactly know what we are. Can I give us a label? Am I allowed to? For two people who've only known each other a week, how close does one become?

Not that close. I'm not ready to hand over my secrets.

Is he even ready to hold my personality? Despite that, I allow him to stand so near. He says I smell like cinnamon muffins in the morning and that's his favorite snack.

How do you move away when someone says things like that?

We settle and all of us trail through the night streets. The streetlights are off and one girl's worried about stepping on glass. I'm worried about people hearing up since we're in the neighborhood, so carelessly loud.

Al's on the other team and I know he's upset about that. He sends little looks to Tris when his chocolate eyes are big and melted. I know the heat from his anger makes them darker, just like Eric's. His eyes are dark because he's mad at himself for Tris not noticing him or his low rank.

There's a fire whenever he looks at her, just like with me and Eric.

I don't know who's getting burnt or-or hurt. I know it won't end in heartbreak. I hope.

We get to the carousel. It's broken down and I feel like I'm in a child's nightmare. The horses are all worn down and I can't imagine it being safe.

Four stops and we all halt, looking at him expectantly.

I know why the girls stare at him. It's not because of his looks, he's too tall for me.

He's tall and tough like he's eaten nails for breakfast. Nothing fazes him. He's invincible without ever being anything less than sharp.

There's a huge difference between the way Eric and Four made a name for themselves. Eric terrifies someone and Four intimidates them. Yeah, they're both scaring others but Four doesn't draw strength from fear. He inspires them to respect him, to follow him and to be just like him.

So why the hell does Eric looks good to me?

I shake that thought away.

"In ten minutes, the other team will pick their location," he says. "I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect."

Tris nods in agreement.

I shrug. We're supposed to be trained to kill. How are we supposed to do that if our minds don't work?

So, the question remains, what the hell is our plan?

Will suggests that some of us go out to guard and some of us scout the location of the flag.

I say we wait for them to come to us.

Someone argues and insists to 'go all out' and hide the flag. Damn well.

Then, we get into an altercation about our plan. It's like no one wants to do one thing. I defend Will's plan. Of course, I would, he's Will. Then others get off and just like the chasm, all of our voices are going off at once.

No one can comprehend anyone else but through the furor, I try to get my word across.

Suddenly, everyone acts all entitled and self-righteous and leaves, doing their own thing.

What about teamwork?!

Then a search party leaves and I hiss at them. One-third of my team is gone. Three other people stayed around the rest are milling around. At least I have strangers who are mad at me for not agreeing with them.

Even Tris and Four are gone. Will left me for them and they saddle us with the duty of taking care of the flag.

The other three Dauntless shove the flag to me and dismally say, "Do as you please," because we'll lose.

I suddenly feel no faith in my Dauntless team.

So, I sit on a carousel horse and clutch a pole, trying to hold my unkept pony up.

Our neon orange flag is behind us and I wonder where my team went. Some time. Leaving me high and dry. I will myself not to care about this because- it's just a dauntless tradition. It's known to go to cure cancer or make me known.

I look at the other dauntless in the dark. "We can't leave this sitting here. We have to hide it,"

"We already lost. Why bother?" One says.

"We didn't lose," I say, still having something to do. It's not over yet.

"We're guarding,"

Or we're all giving up cause that's what it feels like.

Eric's voice rings out in my head and I want to prove I'm something great.

Before I can say anything, there's a deep and profound groan. The low metallic groan that's coming from behind us. It sounds like a metallic horse protesting- not wanting to do any work.

What. The. Fuck.

And all four of us exchange curious but fearful glances.

Then one girl, who's sitting on the edge of the carousel, says, "Guys, we have a damn problem. Those blithering idiots," she curses, quite loudly.

I turn and look. Against the black canvas of the endless sky, I see the silhouette of it. It's moving.

The Ferris wheel is moving.

Suddenly, I spot Tris and Four coming over. I know, just by how stupidly happy they look, they caught something. Something important.

"Where'd the others go?" asks Four.

They join up with us and I grin. She's eyeing Four but not curiously, not for anything more than just staring for the pleasure of it. He suddenly gets on her wavelength and doesn't smile but shoots a careless impressed look. I look away. They just shared a secret.

The girl sitting jumps up. "Did you guys turn on the wheel?" the older girl says. "What the hell are you thinking? You might as well have just shouted 'Here we are! Come and get us! If I lose again this year, the shame will be unbearable. Three years in a row?"

"The wheel doesn't matter," Four says. "We know where they are."

They match eyes, cerulean and sky blue and they nod.

"We?" I ask, looking at her then at Four.

Four nods. "Yes, while the rest of you were twiddling your thumbs, Tris climbed the Ferris wheel to look for the other team," he says.

"What do we do now, then?" Another Dauntless got tired and yawns, still asking the question.

I look at Tris. Wow. I'm impressed. She's... better than I thought she was. I like it this way. But I hate it as well.

She suddenly looks oddly put on the spot. Her shoulders get tense and she stares back at us. Her eyes get light and she steps forward a bit. Even though we were all listening and quiet, her voice becomes loud and confident.

"Split in half," she says and nods to herself. "Four of us go to the right side of the pier, three to the left. The other team is in the park at the end of the pier, so the group of four will charge as the group of three sneaks behind the other team to get the flag."

Wow. She's smarter than I thought.

I don't know what to think. So I think about nothing.

"Sounds good," says the older girl, clapping her hands together. "Let's get this night over with, shall we?"

She's just nods. I go with a guy who has bronze skin and Tris. She doesn't say anything but I want to. Then she avoids my gaze and I don't want to again.

I pull out my gun and run.

I have to get to that flag.

Tris sprints and realizes my motives.

We're both sprinting, the cool breeze is useless when I'm on fire. I'm the one who's getting that flag. Then we alert the other team. Paint splatters everywhere. My finger's on the trigger and I'm running through the wispy smoke, the paint, and all the noises. Tris and I both reach the flag at the same time.

I look at her. "Come on, Tris," I say, truthfully. "You're already the hero of the day. And you know you can't reach it anyway."

Tris jumps back and gives me a confused look.

I take the flag from the branch. I turn around and I cheer. I stand in the tip of my toes. Everyone pauses and I grin.

We won!

Then we all break out into triumphant shouting. My legs burn, my lungs are dry and I feel like I'm going to collapse- but we won!

Everyone's cheering!

We won! Ha.

Everyone from my team rushes over and supports my arm to lift the skies, so everyone can see my face and the flag that I got.

On one side, I see Peter, Molly, and Drew. They scowl and their best scowls are on full display. They're a messy painting.

Maybe I am too but I'm the one who won.

Then in the corner of my eye, I see Eric. He doesn't look as mad as I thought he would. He isn't plotting my death or stomping around. He looks quietly calm. Unbothered. He isn't being Eric. No. He looks... vaguely proud. Then, he folds his arms, a usually angry motion, but this time- it's a sign of acceptance.

So, we look at each other. He breaks the silence, without words.

He nods.

To me, it's an underlying sign of respect. To him, I think it's the same. We're on our own wavelength. The sounds fade. I forget the people and I look away, memory caught in my mind.

Maybe that's why I like the dark so much. There's no looking, no talking. Just body contact and movements of touching.

Another reason, the words don't mean as much anymore.

* * *

In the train, we go back.

Everyone looks tired and they're yawning but I feel like I want to run marathons. The floor is dirty and everyone else is covered in paint splatters except for me and Tris.

Tris looks heavy but she isn't particularly answering my questions. I know she's kind of mad. I would get it... 'cause what I did was a shitty thing but... I want to celebrate with her.

"I can't believe I missed it!" Will says again, not being able to believe it.

I laugh at him and loop my arm through his. "You were performing the very important job of staying out of our way," I say grinning.

Al shakes his head and groans. "Why did I have to be on the other team?"

"Because life's not fair, Albert. And the world is conspiring against you," says Will. "Hey, can I see the flag again?"

I give him the flag without looking at Tris.

* * *

When we get back to the Dauntless compound, I look over and I know there are some people who want to sleep.

I'm too awake.

I know it was wrong to take the flag but I wanted to win. It helps me. I realize I should have let Tris get this one. She formulated the plan. It worked.

But Tris has done so many remarkable things. I wanted a label. I really did.

Plus, random people congratulate me and I'm smiling so wide, it feels good to laugh and smile. After we return from the tracks, despite being friendly on the train, Tris slips away and we don't talk. Al and Will spend some guy time. So, I wander off.

I wonder if they serve coffee here.

They probably don't. Dauntless don't need coffee to wake up. They use stupid things and adrenaline rushes to wake up. But with the flag in hand, I stand against the Pit's wall, watching people come and go by.

Most people are drunk or too sleepy to notice me. Then, Eric waltzes beside me. It's near eleven and I'm wondering why he's still up. With me. He has some office stuff to do. With the papers and decisions and big words, he does have other stuff to do. Instead, he casually stands beside me and I glare.

"You were good out there. You made them stop laughing," says Eric.

"I don't want to hear you right now. I'm not looking to act like your punchline at the moment,"

"What makes you say that?" he grits. "Just take the compliment,"

"No," I say. "I'm the joke that you constantly berate. And you just added humor to your skill set,"

"You should add something to yours," Eric says.

I wince and say, "That joke. Ha, almost as funny as your face,"

Then I turn around and walk away. I don't need this.

Eric comes behind me and shadows my steps.

"Sir. You need to take a step back," I warn.

"Me taking a hundred steps back wouldn't have changed anything you've done. You did well,"

I turn around, startled. Is this a joke? Is he lying? What the hell? He looks at my wrist and I shift uncomfortably. "I didn't want your appraisal. I'm not eager to please you,"

"You should be since I determine the rankings,"

"Funny, Sir, you're on a roll since initiates do that," I laugh but it's sarcastic and heavy. "Maybe you should give up being a bastard for the comedian act,"

He looks at my watch and clicks his tongue. "It's broken," he says, shaking his head.

I look at my watch. It's delicate and black of course. Well, it was black. Practical but a little fancy. The face of it is broken and the glass is cracked. There's peeling pink paint dripping off of it. I shrug.

"So what?" I ask defensively, snatching my arm back.

He seems too amused. It freaks me out. "Is that why you can't have nice things?"

He doesn't hesitate, reaching out to undo the latches of my wristwatch. He carefully takes the timepiece as if carrying a bomb. He then holds it in his hand and I stare at the spot on my wrist, the lacking my wristwatch. He then checks my face as he reaches for his.

"Don't talk. Just cherish it,"

What? His words are never a comfort.

Oh no. He gives me his wristwatch and fastened it on my slender wrist, being careful. It's golden, expensive and large. It doesn't look too tacky but it feels like I'm carrying actual money. And I stare. What?

Why is he doing this? He shrugs and I notice him looking generally pleased with himself. I don't know whether or not to be impressed by this or terrified.

Is he a watch guy? I mean, he does like accessories- nice things. However, he doesn't care about his looks. His dauntless boots are worn. I would be disappointed if his shoes weren't neat or tied all the way, like a know it all. Anyhow, what do I do? He can't just give me something.

I then panic and tense up under his stare. He's waiting for me to say something. I attempt opening my mouth to say something then I pause.

The flag.

He wanted to win so badly, it wasn't funny. It was quite sad now that I've won and he wanted the triumph. I reach for my back pocket, thinking carefully.

Eric and Four have had a... rivalry per se. It's not very healthy nor is it good to have a rivalry, since they end in carnage. Then again, he lost. His team lost under his leadership. He doesn't seem to be broken up about it. Still, Four won and he didn't. I suddenly wish I wasn't on Four's team.

Maybe Eric wouldn't be so broken up about it.

I then nod and get the flag I don't have to return until tomorrow.

"Here," I tell him, offering the flag. He furls his eyebrows and I shrug, unable to look him in the eye. "It's not a source of my pride- so here,"

"I don't need it," he says.

I grab his clenched up fist and undid it. I peel back his rough but long fingers and hold the scabbed over knuckles of his. I carefully place the gleaming yellow flag into his hand.

"Here,"

He looks at me like he doesn't recognize me. He actually smiles in the dim light. He takes the flag and I take the watch. My hand hovers over his and I don't move it. My touch is feather light and our skin is almost touching. I see no reason to move for a couple of seconds. He doesn't move either. It's as though his brain hasn't decided against it.

I take away my hand and walk away.

Did he feel it?

"Rookie," he calls out.

Why am I beginning to respond to that? He just refuses to use my name. Why does he do that?

I turn around and cross my arms, just for him to know my discontentment.

He just sets his jaw and continues. "If you feel others take you for granted, it's up to you to change the way they treat you by setting boundaries,"

I shake my head. "I'm not going to be the epitome of sailing through without talent. And I'm not. There are boundaries you just cross mine all the time. It stops now," I say loudly.

Eric straightens his spine and stands taller. "You cross mine, constantly," Eric says stiffly and he's not happy about it. I am upset at these words as well.

"No, I do not," I growl, stomping my foot and gritting my teeth.

He smirks like I did something positive... something he wanted. "In what universe would any initiates yell at me in the middle of the hallway? Or talk to me this way?" he folds his arms and I know he won.

I open my mouth to refute it. However, I close it and scowl. No one wants to. No one would. No one wants a death certificate. Why is he letting me toe the line, dance on it and cross his lines? Why do I let him do the same? I hate it.

"If people can get over your loudmouth, they'd see your talent. That's something you don't have to argue to prove," Eric tells me, soft almost.

I look back at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask. "Are you trying to insult me?"

"Take it however you want. Draw your inspiration from somewhere else. That's not up to me,"

Four would be much better at inspiring me.

Why- why do I want him to call me talented and-

Oh. I know why he looks better than Four. Even though I hate him and he's stupid- Four doesn't send mixed singles. He doesn't make me want to run a whole mile when he says I can't make it another inch. Still, Eric makes me do better. He's been challenging me.

I turn fully before I can do something impulsive.

* * *

I'm not as tired or cranky in the morning. It's not hard to wake up and get lost in the sets and repetition of working. The training center is as empty as ever and I'm still beating on the punching bag I found an hour ago. My muscles ache and it feels good.

Then, with my skin glistening with sweat and my chest panting, I collapse onto to bench that Eric and I sit on.

This morning was stupid. He didn't take his watch back.

I tap on the face of Eric's wristwatch.

Why?

That's the only question I can ask. I've been avoiding him despite me working out in the same spot he finds me every morning. Will wasn't awake and Tris wasn't awake. I don't know what to say to Al.

I lay there and hold my arm up, staring at the ticking watch.

At first, I wonder if there's a bomb or something that I don't know about it.

Then I wonder if this is some gift.

Is this... something people do? It's a nice thing. It's shiny and looks like he paid a lot to get. I... hate what this implies- because it means nothing- but, but it grew on me. It's so strange to see him hand over something so nice.

Then I wonder about myself. I freaking handed him the flag- as some thank you. It was late, I was euphoric and I really shouldn't have. I don't know why.

This morning, when his hand brushed my wrist, something in me turned on. It's funny because he didn't take it back. His watch, he didn't take it back.

Once we did our little boundary dance, I yelled at him and he yelled at me again.

He unfastened it once again and it's in his hand but he keeps it and fastens it back. I don't know how his heart defrosted and went down a couple of degrees.

I don't get him. He just didn't look at me nor did he say anything. I was grateful.

I get up and ignore how he taped my knuckles.

* * *

-End Chapter-

 


	5. Eric's Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christina deals with Eric's dangerousness and Tris' stupidity

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 5-  
Eric's Knives

* * *

Will and I eat breakfast together. I grin at him, to ease the tension. It feels strange, though. It's always strange about him. Our seats press into our backs and we're still not talking. 

"Why are you having a salad for breakfast?" Will asks, looking at my food and my looks.  

I roll my eyes. "Leave me be, William."

"Hey," he says, watching me intently. There's a faint smile that I want to hate but I can't. 

I wait, awkwardly. I know people need seconds to choose and pluck words, especially in the mornings. Fifteen seconds go by and he's staring at my lips, and staring and staring. Thirty seconds. Forty. He doesn't continue with his words... He's an Erudite and he completely forgot it.

"What?" I ask after he leers for a long time.

"You look good today," he says after swallowing.

"I think I look good all the time but thanks for your input," I laugh.

"You look really good  _today_." he insists and that was just the key to the silence. 

Ah. I live with that claim for two seconds. "Okay?"

He nods and we proceed to eat our individual breakfasts together. We eat in complete but awkward silence.

* * *

Once I get to the Training Room, I can see Eric. When I see him, like a dunce, I trip over my feet. Luckily, no one watches. So, I act casual. Eric looks at me and does a slow once-over.

I... think he's going to do something like thanking me with proper words. I haven't been wanting a conversation but some info on his thoughts would be nice. We had the flag moment. I want another flag. 

He comes over and I feel negativity. I don't know why. He stands close to me and sighs. "A word, Rookie," he crabs.

A word? What does that entail?

Eric looks irate as he glares at my toes. 

I raise my eyebrows and before I know it, his fingers close around my bicep. He drags me into the hallway and we stop close to the wall. In the blue glow, he looks tired, like he hasn't rested all night. I want to ask him if he's slept, but that would be like poking the sleeping bear.

I don't want to deal with that.

I take back my arm and step back a bit. "Sir, what is it?" I hiss quietly.

There are initiates passing me and entering the training room. They notice me immediately and they notice the angst Eric's carrying around. Then they see the foam gathering in the corners of his mouth and the way he's tapping his left foot so quickly.

They send me apologetic looks. They think I am in trouble. Honestly, I think so too.

I let them sympathize until Peter just whispers, "I hope he kicks her out of Dauntless."

Peter passes by with Molly sticking out her tongue and Drew just laughing, unattractively, behind Peter.

He finally lets out a sigh. "Your shoes are not suitable. Go back to your dorm and choose better footwear."

He cannot tell me what not to wear. He's not my father- he's just some stupid Dauntless leader. Who does he think he is?

I protest, "Wha-"

"Just go change them. I do not want a rookie  _questioning_  my orders. Go to your dorm and change them. Now!" he drawls, and the severity of his anger increases with every syllable.

He's in a bad mood. What the hell? It makes him less tolerable than usual.

"A man who has problems with shoes and everything else... such a-"

"Go!" 

"Alright!" I huff under my breath and angrily trudge back to my room, passing a yawning Tris on the way there.

I don't think anything is wrong with my shoes. They're the tough black sandals I wear every day to  _training_. We usually take off our shoes and do some exercising, so I thought it saved me some grief to wear easy to slip on and off shoes.

I grab thick black Dauntless shoes, which are combat boots, and run back to the training center. Damn him. I'm late.

On a white table near to the door, there are glinting knives strewn about on it. They're big but not too big. The black handles are plastic and a surge of want passes through me.

Oh. Then I squint and notice the large targets.

Oh. No wonder my shoes... Oh. I look at Eric. He meant well. He's just an ass at showing it. I just duck my head and stand away from Eric, who also noticed me being grateful. He didn't want my toes to be cut off...  _Oh_.

Knives and targets. Cool.

Just a week ago, I would have been appalled at jumping off buildings, getting copious amounts of tattoos, standing too close to my instructor as insane.

Knife throwing is up there as well.

I check Eric's expression. Subconsciously, I'm curious about him. Consciously, I want to hit myself with a building.

Nonetheless, I turn my head and check him. He folded his arms and he's rigid. He looks like he'll punch a wall and scream at someone just to vent his frustrations. Then he looks like he wants to sleep.

Whatever it is, it affects my mood. No, he affects my mood.

He looks angry. Whatever happened to him- I don't know. I want to know. Somewhere between now and yesterday night, something went wrong and it made his mood black. There's a storm cloud hanging over his head and he's shooting evil looks at the people who mill around.

Today, he asserts himself into the training session, more present than before. He isn't against a wall or tapping his foot so quickly. He's involved. It makes everyone nervous. I can feel like- the ease disappeared and is replaced with dread.

Eric... just has that effect on people.

Eric makes it to the center of the room. He scowls and clears his throat. Four stands a bit away from us. We initiates clump together, watching Eric with wide eyes. Unlike everyone else, I'm not scared. Maybe... maybe I have damn well lost my fucking mind.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric says, sounding impatient. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives. And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

We all stand still and I am wondering why his jawline kind of looks uneven from here. I have never noticed that. I must have missed it-

"Now!" he snaps loudly.

Dick.

I rush away and make it to the table. Through a wall of limbs and people, I manage to get three knives.

I like them. I feel  _dangerous_. The ones I choose are long and have a pointed tip. They'll be fun to deal with. There are a wide variety of knives but these ones called out to me.

Tris takes a bit longer in deciding which knife she wants and she looks thoughtful as she picks one up, testing the weight. Does she think it's heavy? I mean... she's five foot one. Small.

She probably senses me but ignores my presence. I mean I took the flag but she's acting hot and cold with me.

She takes more time to decide to evade speaking with me and I look around the room. My eyes focus on Eric. He's yelling at some initiates for moving too slowly. I look at Tris. She's moving slowly. We're moving slowly. Eric sends a glare and points to the initiate's face.

"He's in a bad mood today," I say to myself.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" Tris says, responding to me.

I jump at the low rumble of her voice. I expected her to ignore me.

She didn't. I'm kind of happy. I feel the unexpected joy course through me.

However, I disagree. She's never seen him beaming or distinctly pleased. I have seen him. I mean, when I gave him the flag... He looked like he was high or medicated. He smiled. That was a good mood. It really was.

I make it to a spot beside Tris before the knives. At first, she doesn't acknowledge me or the fact that I'm looking at her. Then she sends me a nervous smile. And I suddenly wonder if she's fine with me.

Her fingers choose her last lethal knife and she's off. She briskly turns around and makes her way back to the clumped up initiates far from the targets.

Eric glares at us (mostly Tris) as we take our places with our people. Four stares at Tris in a disapproving way and finally moves into position- to throw daggers.

He was supposed to start the demonstration and we held everyone up. We're inconveniencing them. I move quickly. We're the last two in line but Eric doesn't yell. I suspect that it was because of me. But I don't want to get ahead of myself.

"Line up!" Eric yells.

Nevermind.

Correction, at me. Eric didn't yell at me. He all rushed us into a line at the edge of a taped barrier. It's black and worn since many people stepped on it but-but it reminds me of my taped knuckles.

Four, as promised, shows us how to throw a knife.

He's an expert. I'm impressed. He's got the right stuff.

Four throws the dagger. It hits the target with a loud satisfying rip of cardboard. I know he's good. I just didn't know how good. He does it again and again. He gets the target every single time. There's a certain elegance when he does it, I know that.

He turns to look at us. "That's how you do it," he says and his voice is deep.

He just showed that he's better than all of us. He didn't really explain anything. I feel like they just expect us to pick up on every little thing by observing. We won't but I'm trying to.

I take mental snapshots of how he was standing. I remember how he holds the knife. I also remember how he steps forward and balances his weight.

I relax my body, my shoulders and arms are tense since it's the first time I'm doing this. It feels exciting and new. And I'm also terrified.

This is a knife... outside of the kitchen. Holy shit.

I position my hand and stand up straighter. I want a straight and accurate throw. I want it to stick.

I judge the distance and I wind back- ready to release my first knife-

"Don't be scared of the target," Eric's gruff voice cuts through my focus.

I turn to look at him. He's been pacing up and down the room, acting like a paranoid freak. I want to shout at him to stop but yelling at him around knives isn't the best idea. For the both of us, honestly.

I do want to ask what's wrong. It's making me frustrated.

I watch the target, which is cardboard. It looks new because no one hit it. None of us are that good. The targets looks like an average male with white circles around the most vulnerable parts of a person. The head, brain, heart, chest and other parts.

There are blades on the floor. It looks like a walking minefield. No wonder everyone else was told to wear shoes when a leader woke us up this morning. I wasn't there.

People are throwing and missing. Even Peter, who thinks he is God himself, misses.

I smile. His  _downfall_  is my happiness. Will is with Al. Will notices me and sends me a grin, a determined one, like he's on top of the world and he could do better.

I giggle a bit and turn away, knowing that Al missed the target. I didn't know why I expected better.

Four's just staring past me at Tris. What's so interesting? He looks concentrated and- well, I can see the anticipation for something great to happen. He's waiting for her to do something great in front of his eyes.

Tris, no longer beside me, goes back a few steps, and practiced a stance? She's role-playing using a knife. It's peculiar. It's like she's imagining that she has the knife in hand.

I have to lower my knife. What is she doing?

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter snarks and he's not too close to us but not far either. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?"

I hissed, shaking my head. Why is Peter always picking on people?

His reputation is "the mean guy". Nobody will like him. Nobody does except for Molly the bitch and Drew the loyal dog, also a bitch.

Does Peter get off on it? What is he? Why did he help me with stupid Hugh after all those years of torment? That action- helping me in a time of peril- was so contradictory of his personality. It scares me.

Who is Peter-  _really_?

Eric's still doing his pacing trolls up and down the line. He's interested. He should be- he wants to know who'll be in Dauntless and if they'll be any good. I hope he thinks I'm plenty good. Tris doesn't acknowledge him but she watches the target. She finally releases her knife and before I know it, it hits the target.

Wow. It goes quiet. She's the first one to hit the target. I look at Four. He looks pleased. Something great indeed happened.The knife clatters to the floor because it doesn't stick.

I smile. Go, Tris. I ready my knife because she inspired me with a friendly competition to do better. I want to hit the target. I will. Behind me, I hear Eric's footsteps pause. He's. Right. Behind. Me.  _Again._ Why is he here? I stop breathing.

In the pause, Peter attempts to throw his knife. It didn't hit the target nor stick.

Tris lights up and smirks, eyes glowing with satisfaction. "Hey, Peter. Remember what a target is?" she says and she doesn't sound condescending. She's glowing.

I snort, despite my nerves appearing because of Eric.

Tris notices Eric last. But he's still there, being Eric-like and I want to impress him. I steady my sweaty grip on the knife and release it, exhaling as I throw.

I hit the target and... for some reason, it sticks. I can barely contain myself. I hold up my other knife to the light. Hell y _eah_! This isn't a kitchen knife, hell no! It's way more bad-ass. There's a wave of envy that flows through the room and I ride it happily. Eric nods as I look back to check his expression.

I send a smirk to Peter. I catch Al kind of glaring at me. It's one of the strangest feelings. Why would Al glare at me? Why is he mad at me? I ignore it but Eric also notices.

For the next thirty minutes, everyone hits the targets. Their blades stick to the cardboard targets and I start trying to do fancy tricks. Trying is the operative word. Aiming, after all, is our main goal.

During this half-hour, Eric checks up on me. He stands behind me, watching me, but Tris bugs out. She gets nervous and performs better under pressure. That isn't the way I work. I'm stupidly stressed out and I do worse.

For some damn reason, I miss when he's near. I mean, I get ready and I let the knife spin out of my hands but that's when Eric starts watching me, looking for my great moment. I couldn't give him any, not like with Tris and Four because dammit.

When I smell the damn cologne, he momentarily makes me forget my surroundings... 'cause when he looks over my shoulder and his chin is so close to my shoulder- I miss the target and my blade goes flying four feet away from my target.

He just shakes his head in disappointment. I want to apologize but it is his fault. So I blame him and keep missing. There goes any chance of me getting into Dauntless. Okay.

I guess I'm going to be with boring normal kitchen knives... 

Anyhow, Al is the only initiate who hasn't hit the target. He looks so angry with himself and he shoots poisonous looks at me and Tris.

Eric backed off, so did Four, who looked proud of us. He doesn't show it but it's a competitive environment and we're doing better than expected.

This time, I smirk at the target I maimed so well, he's polka dotted.

Tris shakes her head playfully because she's against me in a small competition I made up. The person who gets the most points wins. To get points, one must get all their blades in the vital parts of the targets. The brain, the chest, stimulus package. So far, I've been up by points.

I want to be proud, but I don't know. All three of my blades impaled my target. Before I can take them out and start again (to win against Tris and get the most points), I feel... observed.

Not observed with Eric's gray stare, not flattering whatsoever. This feels... hotter. There's the worst burn in my life on my left side. I look around to see Al glaring at me. Eric notices too. Tris doesn't. She urges me to hurry.

Then Eric continuously watches Al. Al fumbles with the knife in his hand and aimed and released. And missed. I mean back to the target. Why does he keep on missing? Does he need some pointers? Does he even want help? Is he having trouble or he's not trying again? What is happening-

"Do you want to get hit, initiate? Move off of the target," Eric hisses after I stand there too long.

I scurry back to my spot in line and roll my eyes at Tris.

Eric raises an eyebrow as he's behind me. I crane my neck, looking over my shoulder. He's looking at Al, concerned. I look over too.

Al misses. The blade flies and crashes onto the floor. Al looks for a plethora of knives on the ground, prepping for another miss- I cringe. I mean, throw.  _Throw_. Prepping for another throw.

Al misses and I want to march over there and help him. So, I will give him pointers. I throw all of my knives and turn on my heel. I move to go to him but I feel a hand close around my arm.

At first, I think it's Tris but Tris would never openly stop and touch me like that. In addition to that, her hands could never wrap around my bicep that way. Eric.

He's stopping me. Why? I look back, an unspoken question on my face.  _Why not?_

He shakes his head, refusing. He knows what I'm about to do. I don't like that I'm obvious to him.

"He keeps on missing," I murmur quietly. I can help, I know how to help. "Why... he keeps on missing? I want to know, that's it."

"That's an excellent question, Rookie," Eric looks back at me, eyes dark and tone low. Disappointed. "But that's for me to find out."

What?

He stomps toward Al and hisses; "How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

Al turns red, checking the ring for people who are watching. We are all watching. We all quiet down. I shake my head and fold my arms. What the hell is Eric doing?

I was going to help! 

Al throws another knife but this one hits the wall and bounces to the ground.

Eric exhales, a sigh, and leans in closer to Al. "What was that, initiate?"

Al just shifts and looks nervous. Too nervous. His expression mirrors my own. "It-it slipped," Al says, stammering.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says.

I widen my eyes. What's wrong with Eric? A few of us gasp. Peter snorts, amused. Drew and Molly are also surprised and keep their expressions like ours. Pure  _shock_. We're not even throwing knives anymore, we're just staring.

Eric catches our expressions and snarls. "Did I tell you to stop?" Eric orders.

Go get it... echoes in my head.

Everyone else gets out of their trance and follows his order. Tris and I don't. I can't physically move and... well, Tris looks just as sick as I am. She's holding a small dagger in her fist and her knuckles look blizzard white. The conversations start again. I want to do something.

Stupid Eric. I can't believe I thought he was cute.

Also shocked, Al's eyes go wide. "Go get it? But everyone's still throwing," he calls out, eyes panicked. Like a deer in the headlights.

"And?" Eric asks as if he's confused. He's not. He knows perfectly well what he's doing.

"And I don't want to get hit," Al responds, sounding and looking smaller, though he's the tallest of our group.

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you," Eric smiles a little and he's so damn useless. "Go get your knife."

I feel sick. I am going to throw up. I need... a bucket. I clench my fist, looking away from the scene. Why did I put Al in this position? God dammit. It's my fault. That's just not the way that friends behave. I shouldn't have drawn attention to him. I'm so sorry Al.

"No," Al says.

My chin snaps up so quickly, I can feel the whiplash.

"Why not?" Eric asks, incredulous. "Are you afraid?"

Al nods, almost fanatic. "Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes, I am!"

Suddenly, Eric shouts, "Everyone stop!"

We stop throwing and it's so quiet again. I can hear my heart's tempo go a mile a minute. It's so loud. I can't hear everyone's voices.

"Clear out of the ring," Eric points to Al. "All except you."

I glare at Eric. He never means well.

Al looks like his heart stopped but he goes to the target. All of us walk to the back of the room. I hide behind some of the taller boys so they could block my view while I drown in guilt.

It goes quiet and Eric asks Four to help him out. Four challenges him.

Eric says, "I have the authority here, remember? Here, and everywhere else."

They challenge each other with a staring contest until Four concedes to his trick games. And we all prepare for Al to get hit with knives. Suddenly, Tris speaks up and my heart stops.

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," she says loudly. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. My eye twitches and now both Al and Tris are in  _danger_. Stupid Tris.

Eric looks  _delightfully_  pleased that Tris of all people is talking. "Then it should be easy for you," Eric says. "If you're willing to take his place."

She doesn't back down, she just gives a nod of her head and moves to the target.

"There goes your pretty face. Oh, wait. You don't have one," Peter snarks and shoves her shoulder.

I glare at Peter, looking at him but Tris- I twist around to look at Tris. She stands at the target. And I don't understand why she would practically volunteer for something like this?! Yeah... okay she is protecting someone.  _Al_. That's good. Why would she do something so dumb and actually speak up?

Eric is going to have her head! It wasn't brave- it was dumb.

She gives a small smile to Al. I don't get her.

Four tells her that if she flinches, Al takes her spot. She obliges. Then Four taunts her and throws knives. The third and final blade knicks her ear. She reaches up and winces. He cut her.

Four looks smug. Four did it on purpose.

Then, Eric looks proud, like she did something worth praising. "I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," says Eric, his voice smooth, "but I think that's enough for today."

He waltzes up to Tris and places a hand on her bare shoulder, he smiles. "I should keep my eye on you," he adds, looking like she just improved his day for the better.

I just shake my head and walk out before Will or anyone can catch up to me. Those... idiots. Stupid Eric for being so mean. Stupid Al for not trying. Stupid Tris for being so Tris-like. Stupid  _everybody_.

But I see Al and I see Eric. I clench my teeth and hear Peter laughing at a joke Molly made. I make my way to Al and I pull him over. He looks like he's going to cry since his face is as ripe as a tomato. It worries me.

He looks at me feeling sorry for him. "What?" he asks.

I sigh. "Al... I-" I look away and squeeze his arm. "I'm sorry I put you in that position."

He shrugs away my touch and I try not to feel hurt. "What do you mean? You didn't put me there, Eric did. I wasn't in that place anyway," he looks down, eyes weary. " _Tris_  was."

"Eric... and everyone- they're too harsh," I say, shifting in place.

He shakes his head, not believing the words that came out of my mouth. "No, they're not. I am not going to make it to the second stage," he frets aloud.

I punch his shoulder lightly, trying to laugh. "Al- have faith and believe in yourself," I say, half joking, half-serious.

"I can't. I am not going to make it," he looks at his fist.

Compared to mine, they're huge and so... soft. Unused. Not bruised. He doesn't look like he split his knuckle or bruised them at all. What has he been doing this past week?

He notices me noticing his knuckles and says, "I'm a loser who can't hit anyone and I don't like being hit."

I suddenly wince. Why is he so self-pitying? And I want to say words of encouragement then I remember him not trying to prove himself. This makes me angry and I fold my arms. I raise my eyebrow, shaking my head.

"Then why'd you come into Dauntless if you didn't want to fight?" I ask softly, despite the disapprobation I feel towards his disposition.

"To be brave, Christina!" he explodes.

I sigh, looking away.

"I wanted to be brave and the Dauntless are the bravest people I know. I want to be like Tris and I can't even throw a punch," he drops his head.

"Why don't you want to fight?" I ask.

"Because it's not in my nature," he says, ashamed.

"You have to try because of Dauntless-"

"Maybe I'm not Dauntless!"

"Al- don't say that." I snap.

"I would have never been able to do what Tris did..."

"You were going to," I argue.

"But I would never volunteer. That's the point," Al says like it's the last piece of the puzzle. Like it solves everything. "Eric put me there to set an example then Tris was selfless enough to take my spot. Would you have done that?"

I think for a few moments, quiet in the dim light of the hallway. "I mean... yeah, I'd take the pain, of course. At the end of the day, we're still protecting someone."

"I don't want to hurt anyone but I want to be brave," he says. "How... do you do that?"

"Come on, Al. I know it's not about us just... throwing punches and taking punches... We're brave and we become Dauntless soldiers. Soldiers with guns and ammo and knives. We're supposed to hit to protect and serve, even if it hurts. Hurts ourselves and others."

"Yeah... that's true." he says.

He stops scrutinizing me and I stop judging him. It works out. He seems to have taken my message to heart.

"So... Al don't throw in the towel before you fight. It's not fair. I want you to succeed. You're my friend and I want us to get tattoos together to signify we won."

"What type of tattoo?" he asks, looking lighter.

I shrug, trying to get an idea but I trip over my words.

He zeroes in on that confusion. "What, you don't have an idea in mind?" he accuses.

"I didn't think I'd get this far, Albert," I crab back, playful. "I don't know, stupid stuff like... how about a dumb knife. Like a war  _scar_."

"Why would I get a knife tattoo?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

I shove his shoulder. "It's not as dumb as you think. You know you want to."

"No. No, I really don't," Al says, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

"It's to represent liberation from our fears... protection and our friendship," I say, thinking a bit. I look up at him. "Will you get tattoos with me, Al? It doesn't have to be big. Just a pact that we'll make it."

"You don't know if I will." He looks at me, all wishy-washy. "You don't."

I poke his stomach. "Come on Al," I say. "Maybe Tris will be impressed. She's already gotten tattoos and stuff. Shirtless, hot guys in tattoos are everywhere, want to make her notice you? Get a bad-ass tattoo or piercing."

"Christina..." he kind of whines.

"I will even hold your hand for both of them. You could even cry a bit, I won't tell anybody," I joke. "And Tris. Yeah... how's that going?"

"It's... going..." Al shakes his head. "Tris is brave. She's just amazing... at being Dauntless. She's so good, doesn't it scare you?"

I look at him. "It makes me feel proud. Good for her. Even if she does the stupidest things and she's the poster child for the impulsive side of Dauntless... it makes me feel proud... never scared," I say, chuckling a bit.

I look over at him, expecting him to agree. He doesn't. Really, his mouth presses into a hard line.

"Does it intimidate you?" I demand.

He just doesn't say anything at first.

Then, he licks his dry lips and looks at me, eyes low. "Peter says it should."

I laugh for a solid three minutes before I can begin to contain myself. "Peter's the dumbest, evilest sixteen year old without chest hair that I know. Don't listen to him."

I shake my head and we sit against the hallway wall. It feels good. And I put my head on his shoulder and we talk for a while. It feels like catching up. All the anger I had floated away with the laughs we shared.

It's perfectly nice. I do, however, worry about the way Eric glared and scoffed at us just a while ago. What? My head was on his shoulder. Plus, he touched Tris's arm.

* * *

To say the least, the next few days are unimpressive. I avoid both Tris and Eric. Tris... out of anger.

She could have had something really wrong happen to her. And she scoffs and gets angry whenever Four comes near. She's always muttering about how angry she is at him. She stood there. In front of Four, basically asking him to hit her. It's annoying. I don't like it at all.

I'm angry at Eric... just because he's Eric. I am so god damn mad at Eric for putting Tris in that position. Then I hate him for looking so proud. Why was he so testy that day? Why was he... such a sadist? Did it make him happy?

I didn't know just how much Eric was everywhere until I basically wanted him to be nowhere. He's so stupidly relevant to my life. I haven't shown up in the mornings for practice. I don't even wear the watch he gave me.

I just sleep in and talk to Will some more. I am not loud. I oblige to Eric's rules. I don't speak up or argue anymore. I'm just silent. And I like that. He does seem to be bothered. I like that as well. I hate what he did. To me. To her. To Al.

It's strange because Molly's nose got broken by Tris. It's purple and in bandages. I wanted to laugh but it seemed too rude.

And it's visiting day.

I wake up and there's a throbbing in my head. Tears sting my eyes as I've been dreaming about my family and strangely, the scent of rain and leather. It's just mentally draining.

And it hurts to think about my family. We all get ready in silence. I can't even look at anyone else without bursting into a ball of emotions.

I miss my mom and dad. I miss being with them. Even though we fought and yelled... I still feel like I abandoned them. I should have been at home, telling the truth and not being plagued by thoughts of my  _instructor_. I should be making dinners and breakfasts with my mom while gossiping about boys with Rose. I abandoned them. I did. Of course, I did. They might not even come. Why should they? I betrayed them.

I get back onto my top bunk, collapsing down onto my bed. This isn't going to be worth it. The pain is too much when I realize they're not going to be there. I lay with my head on the messy, unmade bed.

Everyone else is putting on their best sides, best smiles, and shirts for their parents. My parents have seen me at my worst and best. I did need to dress up. Plus, they're sorting out their space and folding stuff. It's  _annoying_.

I'm wearing a black shirt with lace and a skirt with fishnet leggings. I try on Eric's nice watch. I keep it on my wrist though I do not like what it suggests. My parents can't get mad. I dressed like this before leaving.

Tris is in her bed, being extra meticulous today. She smoothed out her perfectly folded over bed four times. It can't get any better.

Even Peter's looking depressed like he knows something bad will happen. I want to say I want his parents to not show but that's too cruel. Even for me.

Al's not even here and Will's at his bunk, choosing a shirt to wear. He's kind of shirtless. He is... buff. I like that. He's solid and slender. Not too shabby. He's fair all over and has abs. They look... fit. Muscles everywhere.

He notices my staring and winks, flexing a bit. He even puts on a little show. For me. I clap, giving some applause. He bows and I laugh.

Then I wonder... What does Eric look like shirtless? Does he have tattoos or is-

I burned that whole train of thought and locked it away. I throw away the key into the deepest recesses of my mind. I grab the pillow, pressing it to my face and hope to smother myself. I shouldn't be thinking about Eric while I look at Will.

He had a face that made me feel cold.

"Attention!" Someone yells.

Oh. Gulp.  _Eric_.

Some people are changed, some are not but they all turn and stare at Eric. I sit up promptly, not eager to hear his words but I know he's here for a reason. What is he going to do? Be a huge ass? Ruin my day or is he going to be helpful for once?!

But... he's in his nice shoes and he looked all cleaned up, so it makes no sense.

I try not to seem panicked as I cuddle with my pillow, pulling it close to my chest. What will this bring? Pain, love, happiness? You can get two of the three only. Always.

He's at the entrance, alone and I wonder how pleased he is with the fact that we're being tormented by our inner thoughts. I am so angry I could scream. I'm nervous that I'll throw up and cry or something.

He softens up when he notices that we're doing as he says. "I want to give you some advice about today. If by some miracle your families do come to visit you... which I doubt." Eric says.

Welp. I just want to scream now. What if  _my_  family's not there? I don't, I can't physically or mentally bring myself to care for this, so I lean back. I'm laying and not paying attention.

"It is best not to seem too attached. That will make it easier for you, and easier for them. We also take the phrase 'faction before blood,' very seriously here. Attachment to your family suggests you aren't entirely pleased with your faction, which would be shameful. Understand?"

Faction before blood, huh? I want a bottle of wine before I even get to cry about that. I look at the speaker. His eyes flick to mine and I look away. Not today, not today.

Everyone nods and they move to the entrance, eager to see their loved ones. Peter pushes through the crowd, gung-ho to see his parents. For some reason, I watch him leave his hobbling, purple Molly friend and Drew to see his family.

It makes him... seem more human. I don't know, I like that.

To a certain degree, everyone is like Peter. The kid rushing back to their parents even though they have facial hair and acne and they're also gangly and taller- but they're still kids needing parents.

I'm too annoyed about my family. It hurts to get up and think about it, so I try to do nothing. I just remain there, too heavy to move. Pre-existing expectations and disappointments sit on my chest. It makes me unable to move. I don't want to.

So I look at the ceiling. Where am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to be?

I check the door. I don't want anyone noticing my ditching.Eric talks with Tris at the door. It's just something that Eric says that sets her off. She stiffens. She looks uncomfortable and marches away, quickly.

I wonder what he's said. Is he praising her? Did he compliment her on her tattoed collarbone? Or the fact that she won the fight yesterday against Molly?

What does he care about Tris? I'm already bitter like I've chewed on actual coffee beans for years.

Then I wonder why I care.

He shuffles over to me and stands at the foot of the bed nearest to mine. He clears his throat and I don't bother.

I just groan. "Go away."

"It's obligatory that I ask since you are meant to meet your family," Eric says, a matter-of-fact tone coloring his tone. It brings me to a boil. "What are you doing in here?"

I just turn over and stare at the rocky wall. It's none of his business and I don't want to talk to him, so I don't.

"The silent treatment. That's very mature," he says.

I just roll over again. I try not to jump when I see his actual metallic eyes near to mine. They're quite fascinating and clean. He's close enough that our stares line up perfectly. He's standing, right there at the head of my bunk. I didn't hear him move. That's a problem.

I just look at him and he looks at me. A few minutes pass. He doesn't look away and I don't either. There are probably tears in my eyes but he says nothing and I just quietly revel in that.

"Well, Rookie, you might as well talk to me since you're, in all obviousness, not going to meet your family-"

I shake my head, sit up and jump off the bunk. I sashay out of the dorm, him being the inspiration I need to see my family.

I walk to the end of the hallway and stand there. Behind me, I hear Eric. He must have followed me out here and I'm numb to that. I duck my head and I'm scared someone will see us. We're hidden by shadows and drowned out by the loudness of all the families nearby.

No one can see us here. Why am I so nervous?

I move over a bit and he stands beside me. "Go on. Walk away strong and independently. The world is your oyster," he says.

I scoff at him. He raises an eyebrow. "What? It's just a metaphor."

"I hate-" I start to say but give up.  _Oysters_. I hate sea snot in sea puke. Why would I even say that? I really hate oysters.

He waits for me to continue. "Go on."

I just shake my head and we both stare forward, like before.

"I've got no one to worry about, you do, so go on," he says. "Be happy your parents showed. Many others don't get that opportunity."

I look at him, nostrils flared and brows pressed together. No one to worry about? What's his case with his parents? And where are my parents? Is this a train wreck?

Probably. 

I don't even allow myself to scan the crowd for them. My parents. My sister. I probably know they aren't there. I'm going back to the dorms. Why am I even here? I'm leaving.

Eric sees this and blocks me from actually moving. "Not gonna happen, Rookie," he says, acting like a supreme brick wall.

I glare at him. I'm going, he can't do that.

He shakes his head and I turn around, facing the pit again. He presses his hand to the small of my back and I give a little gasp.

He pushes me forward and I stumble into the white light and out of the blue. He gave me valiance but it has a hot, sweet taste.

I turn around and raise the middle finger to Eric and it barely works. He smirks proudly, immune. Just moments into my search, I see them. They're here. They came for me. All of them. I can't do anything but look back at the shadows, where I know Eric resides and grin.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	6. Family Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christina learns her place

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 6-  
Family Lies

* * *

I brush myself off before a beauty that looks like a mini-me runs and gathers me into her arms. And I swear, it's the happiest I've been in lifetimes when my dad holds my cheek, my mom laughs in my ear and my kid sister's laugh is there and I'm hugging them.

I never want to go home. I never want them to leave. It's  _confusing_. My dad has to leave early- work, he's the mechanic of Candor.

Despite being a mechanic, he tries to show his allegiance to Candor by wearing the typical Candor wear- a black suit and white tie. Suddenly, he smells like oil and leather and I remember driving down streets with my head out the window. I... I don't want him to go. He hugs me and kisses my hand, like a gentleman he always was. It hurts to see him go.

My mother's somewhere, talking loudly with her hands and probably yelling at someone.

But Rose kisses both of my cheeks, drawing me away from the sight of my father going and jumps with excitement.

She wants to tell me something.

"You-  _spill_ ," I say, knowing she'd want to talk. She bites the inside of her cheeks when she wants to talk. It gives her a ghoulish look, as she's quite thin.

She's just a damn kid, then she's having curled hair that reaches her shoulders. She doesn't have lipstick lips, though. She's also wearing a striped black and white flared dress and black boots.

Rose blinks and twirls around. "I found a knife on the ground, and everyone is wearing black, look at you and a Dauntless boy tried to kiss me."

"Really?! Rose, look at you! Who?" I ask, my gaze skimming the crowd for this said boy.

Rose obediently nods and points to the boy. The boy was just about her height with a mo-hawk and of course, he has a chain hanging from his left pocket. He's with a family of six and he gazes at Rose, offering a coy smirk, beckoning her to come over. She blows a kiss, gesturing to me with an apologetic look on her face.

"Isn't he cute?" Rose squeals.

I just shrug. He looks like he's trying to be cool and that isn't cute. He looks happier when Rose bats her eyelashes at him. He nods to her and a loud, flirtatious giggle escapes her mouth.

"Focus on school, Rose," I roll my eyes.

"Why should I? It's all boring!" she whines.

"I can't lie, even now and say you're wrong about that."

"You never say it anymore..."

Her smile kind of drops and I know it's because I left her. I didn't mean to.

The pain comes. It's so visceral and her gaze on my face grates into my skin like sandpaper. She looks depressed and happy and sad at the same time. I never felt like such a traitor. My parents never thought I was such a traitor until now.

"I'm a traitor to you," I say, flicking my gaze away. I hate how she grabs my hand. "I... I should have told you."

She shakes her head, her endless smile not dimming. "I knew."

For some reason, I'm grateful.

"I knew you wanted to come into Dauntless the moment you... punched another boy's face on the playground for me," she whispers then her chin drops. She giggles and it's music to my ears. "His face was so purple! And I loved it."

"Rose..." I say, my lip trembling. I shouldn't have left her. Why did I? I should have... just stayed. Oh, God. I miss her. I  _miss_ her.

She shakes her head. "I know you... loved it and I loved you so it didn't even matter."

"Rose, I'm... sorry-" I start to say, my throat uncomfortably tight.

She shakes her head and reaches out to touch my forehead. "My mind to your mind," she says and traces an infinity sign. "From my heart to your heart. I know the truth. Forever your truth."

I allow her to press her forehead against mine. It was a childhood thing all Candor kids are taught.

 _My mind to your mind._  
From my heart to your heart.  
I know the truth.  
Forever your truth.

Can she hear me? I don't want her to move farther away. I sigh. I want to apologize for leaving her, missing her and not telling the truth but I can't. She knows.

_Forever my truth._

She pushes away.

I blink away the tears trying to jump from the rim of my eyes.

"How are you?" Rose asks enthusiastically, her laughs making me feel light. Lighter. Less guilty.

She reaches up and touches my cheek, caressing it. "Tears? None of that. Alright? You're supposed to not make me cry."

"They're gone." I smile and shake my head. "You always said the nicest things to me."

"You are a great sister," she tells me, continuing her trend.

Does she want me to cry even  _more_?

Great sisters don't leave their siblings. She still thinks I'm great though I know how to throw knives and shoot a gun.

It's not even an empty compliment. It's a genuine truth. It's true. That's what I love about Candor. I hate it when it's too honest but... when it's in small doses, it can be refreshing. It's straightforward and I know what I'm doing.

I nod. "I needed that."  _Needed you, Rose._

"You were always a sucker for apologies," she says. "Flattery."

I laugh. "No one can stand that, ha," I reveal.

She swings my arms and holds on tightly. "What about you? Where is your latest conquest?" she asked.

"Mine..." I say, biting my lip.

I scan the room, looking for the safer option; Will.

Instead, my eyes land on Eric. Eric's near the hallway where he left me, leaning against the wall. He's... being small.

He's stiff and crossing his arms with an apple at the end of his hand. Even from here, I can see the veins of his fist protrude from how tight he's clenching the apple. Not eating, he is observing everything quietly. He's probably glaring at the families who didn't follow protocol.

But it's probably deeper than that.

Eric tentatively lifts an apple to his mouth and bites into it, completely bored. At that moment, he just looks like an awkward eighteen-year-old who's uncomfortable. He's eating just to distract himself.

Did his family... not come? Are they allowed to be there? Will my family visit me... after this year? What about when I am Eric's age? Will Dauntless allow me to? Will I be standing by the margins, angry and hurt like Eric is? Though I curse him to hell, he shouldn't have that pain.

I accidentally meet his gaze and I purse my lips. He notices me with family and gives a short nod. Then, he looks around himself and there's no one. He shrugs and I-

Rose elbows me and I glare at her but she's already staring at Eric. "Oooh, who's that? I can feel your longing. He's... wow. He has that naturally icy glare but if you're interested in that I endorse him-"

"Excuse me. I'm not into that," I dismiss and I elbow her in the boob. "Good God, Rosemary, lower your voice."

This makes her let out an even louder groan in pain.

I look at my giggling sister.

"Overkill, ow. I know you better than anyone, Tina, you can't lie to me. You're Dauntless but you can't fool a Candor," Rose smiles.

My mother approaches. Judging by the way another Dauntless guard looks displeased, I know she's just come back from another argument.

Her sharp perfume stings my nose. Her black glasses perched on her nose fall forward and I know she's displeased. She wore a long, long black skirt to cover her lithe body.

She's tall- like me. She still looks down on me, though. Her white cardigan covers her ruffled black shirt and I want to know what she will complain about today.

"Christina is still a Candor, Rosemary, because this- she gestures to everyone- is not what we do, Christina," my mother tells me sternly.

"I do not want to have this argument again," I say, kind of desperate. "Honest."

She looks up suddenly at me, her expression incredulous. "Honesty? You still believe in that while you reside here? That isn't acceptable!"

My mom stares at everything, a little bitter.

"Mom, I know that you don't like-"

She shakes her head, cutting through my sentence. Why doesn't she ever let me finish?

"I don't like this place at all. Christina Orphelia Murillio,  _Dauntless_... is insane," she snaps.

I wince, I haven't heard my middle name in a long time... It makes my stomach fill with a bitter... sweet ache.

"Insanely good, right?" I joke, trying to lighten everything.

Rose cracks a smile, and I exchange a glance with her. She knows there's going to be an argument.

My mom shakes her head. "There are kids with more tattoos than fingers, they're all crazy and loud. Two kids started a fight and I'm never going down across that railing again. How did the children cross it so easily?"

"Mom- there's magic everywhere in Dauntless. And you said you were okay with my decision!"

Rose winces before talking, avoiding our mother's gaze. "Mom has been whining this past week about you not being there. She called you irresponsible for joining the freaks. Uncle Jack is also kinda mad," Rose reveals.

"You disappointed Uncle Jack!" Mom echoes.

Seriously? She'll bring him up? Uncle Jack shouldn't even care but he does... and I hate that. It doesn't matter. I care about him missing me. But still, did Rose get corrupted, too?

"Rose! You're on my side. That's the deal!" I snap. I turn to my mother, kind of bitter now too. Why can't she accept my decisions?! They are not freaks. They're my faction.

"I'm on your side. Always," Rose states, getting upset with my accusation. "Mom's words, not mine."

"Mom... this is not one of my latest bad ideas," I grumble, feeling my eyes get hot.

Mom's always treating me like I know nothing about how the world works. All my choices, decisions and whatnot, anything that I do is not valid or correct because I'm only sixteen. And I'm Christina Orphelia Murillio, her dumb daughter who didn't want to be a damn lawyer like her.

My mother's gaze sweeps over my filled wrist. My wristwatch. When did it exactly become... mine? I can't think or worry under my mother's glare.

"Where did you get that watch from?" Mom practically spits out the question.

I cover my wrist with my opposite hand. "It doesn't matter. I'm staying and that's the truth."

Mom huffs. "This is not what we do, Christina. This is one of your bad choices- like that time you failed your exam, crashed the car to sneak out and kiss that boy, Jax. There are guns everywhere- you might get hurt. You've got scars and bumps and bruises everywhere. You're not  _Dauntless_!"

"Is that how you feel?" I ask.

Way to stab me with sharp words mother... Suddenly, Eric's behind me and I know because the surrounding air smells like cigarettes and fresh wind... Ozone.

He moves so silently. I didn't even... hear him move but I'm grateful. Eric says, "I'm sorry to cut in but Christina certainly is Dauntless. She proved it countless times... Mrs..."

"Mrs. Murillio," Mom supplies.

He moves closer, besides me and I feel better. At last, she's getting some proof.

"Mrs. Murillio, your daughter showed a lot of promise and natural talent during initiation. Do not doubt her, she is doing quite well for a rookie. Her chances look great at staying in Dauntless," Eric avoids my gaze while he says all of that. "I would be proud if I were you."

"Well, I'm glad you're not me. Don't tell me what to think about my child. And excuse me, who are you?" Mom says, offended and flabbergasted that she's wrong.

"Eric. A Dauntless leader," Eric clears his throat.

Mom's jaw drops. She looks surprised. "You... you are so young."

Eric frowns slightly at that term...  _young_  but immediately becomes a tank and surges on.

"If she continues to succeed, she can be in my position. Maybe even a month or two away," he says, kindly.

Like he actually believes it. I don't know if he believes it. i want him to.

I nod. "See, this isn't completely wasteful," I add. "I'm fine; brave; Dauntless. The rankings will be up tonight and I'll be there, at the top to prove you wrong!"

My mom just looks upset and shakes her head. "Christina..." her glasses shine under the light.

Then, before our argument can continue, Tris and her mom float over. Eric, who was perfectly content with disputing with my mother, takes this as his cue, and leaves.

I introduce them. My mom and I... haven't been on the best of terms. I can't even begin to get over the look she gave me when I chose Dauntless. It was haunted, scared and disappointment all hauled into one cocktail of an expression.

I couldn't even look at Jack Kang, our surrogate uncle because he's basically a Candor leader. I made a promise to stand by his side while being a politician... or a lawyer. Damn it. I can't cry. I can't forget the look she gave me either.

I try to forget it. Rose wisps off into the crowd and I stand, awkwardly, with my mother.

"So... why are you always honest when you're rude to me?" I ask after standing in silence for a long time. I give her a pointed look.

She gives me an incredulous look. "Don't start."

"Don't start  _what_?" I demand.

She's about to answer, and start, but she looks over. Quite unusually, mother smiles and waves to someone else in the crowd. "Peter! That's Peter," she cries.

How does she want to see Peter? I stare, quizzically until she tugs on my arm.

"He's so sweet," Mom coos.

I almost choke on my tongue but I keep my cool. "Yeah. He's something," I say.

"Something?" my mother rolls her eyes. "Don't be so coy. You used to hold hands and steal from the cookie jars then fall asleep together at nap time."

"Who?" I gasp.

"You and Peter," she laughs. "We have photo albums and crayon love-letters framed."

Oh. My. God. She must be lying. She's a Candor. Oh. No. We weren't. We wouldn't. Mom mills towards Peter, who shines a confused but welcoming smile at my mother. Mom catches Peter alone, so he's less intimidated or more full of shit. He was also less likely to walk away.

After capturing him in a hug, she says, "Ah. Peter, how are you?"

Her voice is clear and loud and I know it's the voice of a lawyer. Exacting. Every time we don't agree, she acts like I am a damn criminal who deserves to be locked up in the Merciless Mart. The Candor headquarters got that... unflattering name after people noticed how brutal Candor are with their honesty.

Why... is she interrogating Peter?! Why does she like him so much?

He looks at me then focuses on my happy mother. "Doing great, Mrs. Murillio. Didn't know I'd catch a lovely lady in this pit. You're too lovely a flower to be here."

My mother's name is Sharisa... which means cherry. I cringe while my mother erupts into loud, clamorous laughter at his corny joke. He's extremely charming when he wants to be. It's stupidly deceiving and manipulative.

Peter laughs at his own joke, making my stomach twist. He squeezes my mother's hand then releases it. She's enchanted.

"Did you get my mother's loaf of bread? She said she wanted to catch you but the 'rents had to leave early," Peter says, a bit sad.

My mother smiles and notices the sadness. "Don't worry. You'll see them again."

He tries to look hopeful and I shake my head. "Loser..." I say through a cough and his eyes level with mine.

He glares at me.

My mother watches us hate each other. "I'm surprised you both aren't all over each other," she notes, a purse to her lips. "That's odd."

"Excuse me?" I sputter. Peter and I share confused glances but it is my face that burns.

"I know why you both transferred into Dauntless," she tells us. "As parents, we're okay with it. Privacy and rebellion and such."

I just raise my eyebrow and genuinely want to throw up. My fresh-faced mind shouldn't be exposed to that garbage. "Huh?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes, not wanting to explain, since everything she thinks is obvious. Which it isn't.

"For you, both to... have your relationship, doesn't mean I am not mad for you both transferring out of Candor. You both were the fiercest debate team players we've ever had," Mom frowns.

Peter just seems shocked but nods. We were only arguing so hard because we wanted to prove the other so, so wrong not because we loved... debate team. Maybe that's why we're both not in Candor. I almost punched him every time he proved me wrong.

She watches me for a long moment. She's never hesitated to say anything to me. "You both didn't have to lie," she states and shifts her gaze away.

Never have to lie? What?

My stomach lurches. I never lie to her. Ever.

"Mom, you sound crazy- I'll find Rose and you'll stop talking," I hiss. "Stop talking,"

Rose and mom have to leave suddenly after Tris and Will finally meet her.

My mother, graceful and strong, makes her way through the crowd. Peter seems satisfied with my mother's words. Transfer? What does she think I am hiding? What the hell...

"Your mom's cool but you're lame. Let's never talk again. Your mom is nice, though," Peter shrugs, shoving his fists in his pocket.

"Asshole!" I grab out to his arm, not caring if he protests about how hard I clench. "What the hell is she talking about?" I hiss, pulling him closer.

He gives me a lazy smirk. "Your brain is just rotting fruit, of course you don't understand." He leans in close and my face still burns and I dig my nails into his arm. "But that's what I expect; an idiot."

I push away his arm. "Useless, you are positively useless!"

"Get back to your family, Crissy," he tells me in a sing-song voice.

I want to punch in both of his eyes. Make him bleed. What's happening?

I want to cry. I still hug Rose and my mom. She still kisses my cheek but I know she's upset with me. Either way, she still smiled. At me. And that's good. She's passive aggressive and snappy but I can't help but shout at her. She's so disappointed in me.

* * *

Later on, my mother told me she loved me. I can't even... breathe. She hasn't told me in a long time. I don't go back to the dorms. Instead, I spend my time in the training room. Four's there as well.

We don't speak, whatsoever. He pretends that I don't exist and I try to make small movements, to draw less attention to myself.

I just wanted to be alone, cool down after my talk with Eric and ponder the misery of my mom's outburst.

Four's standing, tall. Now that I am closer, I kind of notice how he's a bit tan and his hair isn't as blonde as I once thought. It was a close crop cut that is familiar. I remember seeing it on the Abnegation boys.

Dauntless would have shaved it all off or style it in mo-hawks or dye it vehement colors. He looks punctual and militant. It's quite strange, it's like he wants to fade off into the shadows. He can't. He's Four with long eyelashes and dark, piercing denim eyes. He kind of has a hooked nose. It's cute- in a dangerous way.

"Are you done leering?" Four's husky, deep voice bounces off the walls and in my ear.

He knew I was there? He is Dauntless- but I am quiet. I was trying to be for the first time ever. However, when I stop hiding in the dark spots, watching him like a creep, I move forward. He acknowledges me.

I know he doesn't like me. Everyone knows. It may not have been my best moment when I asked if his name was Four, like the number. From that moment and onwards, I know he carried distaste for me.

He just stands up straighter, as tight as a wire. "You're not allowed to be in here," he narrows his eyes slightly like he does when he's annoyed.

My voice gets a pitch higher with my anger. "Why not?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I am considering the ranks and the positions of initiates. It's best if I am not distracted by noise," he tells me.

Huh?

" _Your_  noise." he explains.

That's a cheap shot. He just called me loud. Well, well, well. I just wanted a place to think... Asshole. "I'm sorry. Thought no one would be in here since... it's visiting day... and they... yeah," I say, sloppy with my words. "Hope I am not a bother."

I have no idea what to say and it's never like this. He shrugs a shoulder slightly. "It is quiet here," he admits neutrally.

"Yeah. Especially in the mornings," I comment, smiling.

He notices my smile and turns off, flicking his gaze away.

He lifts a dark brown brow to me. "Why aren't you with your family? Or your friends?" he asks, rudely, in that same numb, military tone.

"They're gone. Had a short, uncomfortable talk. They left... prematurely," I say after a breathy, awkward laugh.

He stares.

I scratch my head, a bit just to do something with my hands. "Where's yours?"

He seems to become even tenser and I wince at my stupidity.

I have to get myself together.

Too personal. I backtrack slightly, wondering why I always do that. I do want to know more about my older instructor but not like this. It's creepy. I shouldn't even be bothering him in the midst of this.

He just turns away. "Not here, either."

"Oh," I say just to fill the silence. "Mine aren't either."

He stays and remains quiet while I just recede into the shadows.

"Do you think that I'll be factionless?" I ask, wanting an honest answer.

Four looks confused. "I'm not allowed to discuss that, Christina."

"I should celebrate. I thought you didn't know my name," I let out a cheer.

"You're hard to miss," he says quietly and he's being apathetic again.

I just beam, at the semi -squint your eyes to the left- type of compliment. "If I'm factionless, after tonight, am I supposed to get up, leave and go?"

"Pretty much," Four says and he finally looks up at me. "Your outcomes can go either direction."

Is he being rude or nice? "Thanks for the hope," I say sardonically. "It's a real vote of confidence."

"You're welcome," he replies with even more evident sarcasm.

I give a wry smile. "I don't think it's an even split... I will stay. The thing that mixes my factions is that kicking everyone out is not good for society," I argue.

Four shrugs, once again, kind of irritated. "There are some people who don't fit into the main categories or make it through initiation."

"Why is initiation so hard? We could obviously die during this initiation. Years ago, everyone made it home free," I say with a little edge to my tone. "I liked that Dauntless.  _That's_  what I signed up for."

Four suddenly has a faraway tone, like his mind wasn't completely there. "Things changed. Dauntless changed," he says, thinking of a better time.

"Did you like this change?"

He finally got a little calmer. More melancholy. "That's not something I should have an opinion on." he says resolutely.

And he puts up this invincible wall.

I show a little exasperation, as with some amusement. "Pfft. Everyone has an opinion. It's a forefront of someone's personality. It's an identity."

"It's not something we share," he says simply. "Information is power but it's also dangerous,"

I nod. "Talking and communication saves us. In Candor, I was taught that Dauntless always, always have an opinion. They are the only ones who get physical to defend it. Through blood and bone."

"You're not in Candor," he says in a clipped tone.

I roll my eyes. Duh. "Yeah but that's why I chose Dauntless. Dauntless is the place where we fight for what we believe in and we're brave enough to shoot a gun for it."

"You came into Dauntless for a fight?" Four asks, almost disgusted.

I bring my hands up in mild surrender. "Nah. Not that."

"What then?" he demands slightly.

I cradle my arms, holding myself as I kicked the mat a bit. "I came here to escape the jarring honesty and be brave enough to defend without words. And I'm less of a smart-mouth than you think. But still, I want to hear what goes through your mind. You don't like honesty," I conclude. "That's... peculiar."

He shakes his head. "Assumptions won't advance anything. I like honesty... just not at the expense of others," he tells me. "Truth breaks things, not mend."

I felt like smiling, someone gets it. "Ha. Ha... Four, we are not at an impasse. Because me... me too," I say. "It doesn't mend as much as they break but that's denial."

He gives me a look like he understands me for a little. Like we're not people on different levels, in different worlds.

I just nod and say, "For all its worth, you're a good teacher. I'll take what I was dealt. I hope that Dauntless reverts to the usual if I am gone. I trust you could clean this place up."

His expression, softens a bit, momentarily and it warms me. Maybe he's not as scary.

Then again, he probably is.

* * *

Before I can move out of the way in the halls, I see Eric. He stops and I stop. It's painful but we stand there.

I have to say something. Somehow, I find my voice. "You think you're the most powerful but that's not power. That's cowardice. Beating others down won't help you or them!"

His frown becomes deeper. "You haven't spoken to me and the first words are of disrespect?" Eric says, upset.

He waited to speak to me-

Why?!

I assume my battle stance and become louder. "Yes. You deserve it. You're insane. I haven't forgotten that you made me go over the railing. Hang off of it for five minutes when I almost died? I almost died. Are you even sorry about that?!"

Eric opens his mouth and surprisingly says, "Yeah. Partially. You did deserve to be shown your cowardice. Notwithstanding, there were better methods of discipline."

My jaw hangs. Did he just admit that he's sorry?!

I need someone to record this decadent moment. He thinks he's wrong, he who has the god-complex with a set of straight, straight white teeth. Such nice teeth... I am so shocked that he leans in expectantly and he's close. Super close. I'm losing focus here. I'm honestly lost in the grey of his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I stammer but get a handle on my anger. "D-damn straight. Practice what you preach and run with it. Why did you make Tris stand in front of the target?"

"Why do we do anything?" he says, all rhetorical. "To learn and better ourselves."

I boil with fury. "That wouldn't have helped and you know it. You just wanted to set an example. She is not an example and I am not an example. Whatever you were feeling that day, I get it. People have off days, where they'd rather ignore every living thing than socialize but- we're not a sounding board for that anger. Especially now more than ever," I say my peace and I look him in his steely eyes.

"I-"

"Just- stay away from me," I say, sadly. I nudge his shoulder against mine as I brushed past him.

He takes a moment and says, "You'll pass in the rankings. I can feel it."

"Oh piss off," I snap.

But I'm thinking of it as a token of good luck. And I fucking hate that but not him and that's annoying.

* * *

At dinner, it's a bit quieter. There's a lull in the energy coming from everyone. This atmosphere feels sheltered compared to the liveliness and color of the cafeteria yesterday.

We all know it's because the rankings are being announced today. Even Peter's too drained to do anything.

Will looks at my meal with a side eye. "What?" I ask, getting self-conscious.

He observes my meal and leans in. It doesn't make me nervous. Which is something I should examine later on.

"You don't usually eat the salad for dinner," he comments lazily while shoveling some more food on his platter.

I scan the options for tonight. "Let me live, will you?" I say jokingly, swatting his shoulder with my free hand.

My other one keeps my tray steady.

Will smiles. "Potatoes? Beans? You like eating the carbohydrates and starches that are fatty."

"Thanks for monitoring my food choices, where would I be without William?" I mock joke. "Are you going to slap my hand for the candy bar I bought?"

"God no. That's a waste of perfectly good chocolate and brain food. Lima beans deserve to be on the floor, better yet the trash," he says and picks an apple. "All vegetables deserve hell."

He likes fruits, that's what I know. He avoids vegetables.

"Okay? What's up with your unjustified burning hatred for veggies?" I laugh, half-serious.

He wrinkles his nose. "They're just as unpleasant as broccoli," he gags.

"You small child. Besides, the things on my plate... it's my pity food," I explain after I chew on a celery stick and we mill on through the line.

"What?" he asks like it didn't register in his Erudite brain.

I lean in closer and I can smell the simple musk of his. I finish chewing the celery stick and swallow.

"When I am stressed, I stress eat. It's awful. My mom kept loads of sugary snacks in a cupboard I b-lined for every day and my sister's a vegetarian with carrots growing in our backyard garden. I usually turned to junk food but I changed. Evolved, my good Will. When I got sad, I trained myself to eat myself to death with trail mix and salad in front of me."

Will's lips quirk into a smile. "How does that work?" he asks like he's genuinely interested.

"I basically call it pity food because as I eat these unpleasant foods, I remember just how much life is enjoyable and how much food I love and that makes me happy again."

"Oh, that's smart," he chuckles.

"Right?" I ask and he gives me a high-five.

After he escorts me, we sit in the corner of the cafeteria, close to Peter, Drew, and Molly. The last time we sat near, they made sure to laugh obnoxiously loud and it was like the heavens were testing me. Waiting for me to get charged with murder. They drain me with their obtuse stupidity. Tris felt the unease too.

After stealing a chicken strip from Al's plate for the third time, he smacks my hand lightly. "You know the buffet is right there."

"Yes. But it's too far, Ally-" I say.

"Don't call me Ally."

"Ally- let the tired girl have her pick." I whine even more.

"You're being lazy," Tris warns jokingly.

Al cracks up at Tris's words, smiling. His kind gaze falls on Tris.

They make eye contact but they avoid it and Tris blushes. Hard. This... whatever that was has happened multiple times on many occasions. They both reached for the salt, for their mashed potatoes, and their fingers accidentally intertwined. It was crazy how embarrassed and sheepish Al acted.

I tried not to think about it.

"I'm not lazy. I had a pet. So you know how much responsibility and work they were? Will, back me up with some facts," I demand.

Will, to my right, actually shakes his head. "I've never had a pet..."

My eyes dart to Al. "You've had a pet. Right?" I ask for some confirmation of semblance for backup.

Al shakes his head. "My mom's allergic to fur. My dad fed strays."

"Tris?" I ask. She's across from Will.

"It was viewed as selfish and self-indulgent," Tris admits, poking at her food.

She always looks like there is something on her mind. It's heavy, to think like that. She's been quiet, probably because of her mind. Every time someone brought up their family, she would get angry and stare across the room, ignoring the speaker. Will and Tris haven't said anything to each other since she and Cara, Will's sister, got into an argument about Abnegation.

I groaned. "None of you had a pet. Boring. They are awesome during childhood," I explain loudly.

Tris shrugs again while Al just looks thoughtful. "It might've been, Christina. Wondering what it would be like. It must've been cool," Al says.

"Right?" I say, nodding. I give him a high-five.

"I beg to differ," Will says after swallowing a sip of water.

Of course, you do, Will. Course you do.

"They aren't necessary. That is why Erudite chose the right path and banned the rodents," he finishes.

Will tried to distract me in the way he does, talking about facts while I promptly argued them off. "You weren't allowed to have pets?!" I demand and my hand slams onto the table. "Why not?"

Will looks smug again and he's confused at my arguing. "Because they're ill-logical. What is the point in providing food and shelter for an animal that just soils your furniture, makes your home smell bad, and ultimately dies?"

This makes me even madder. Erudite are just stuck up know-it-alls. Forming canine affection bonds isn't the worst thing in the world. I feel like he missed out on childhood fun. He wasn't allowed to play in the mud and dirt because it would just make him dirty and he could find some parasite in the puddles.

His family spent hours just quizzing each other instead of actually getting to know each other. His schedule consisted of no playing and just studying. He knew what a controlled variable was by age 3. I still can't remember what it is. He didn't do the normal stuff kids did.

Like own a dog or steal a pack of bubble gum from the corner mart.

This guy does not have any feelings, it's insane. Dogs are so cute and they provide the best listeners. They make anyone feel loved. They still sobbed and kissed all over your face after leaving them all day. That's what love is! They're just great companions. I remember walking my dog in the cool breezy air, through the streets. It was utter peace. I want that again.

Then when they bare their teeth and feel threatened and tall, I know I can't approach a dog. I can't keep myself safe or them safe. They're just... scary. I don't think that I can have another dog. After the choosing day, I know I cannot handle the stimulation of fur on on my skin after I- I attacked it. I shudder.

"The point is..." I say but stop after a while because I am flooded with this odd type of wave of nostalgic hurt. I regroup myself and talk normally. "Well, they're fun to have. I had a bulldog named Chunker. One time we left a whole roasted chicken on the counter to cool, and while my mother went to the bathroom, he pulled it down off the counter and ate it, bones and skin and all. We laughed so hard," I tell him.

He just looks even more challenged by the concept of a pet dog. Those numb Erudite folk really did a number on him. "Yes, that certainly changes my mind. Of course, I want to live with an animal that eats all my food and destroys my kitchen." Will shakes his head.

I roll my eyes, ready to argue some more. He's not getting it. Despite Chunker being a little messy troublemaker, I know that I really loved him. It was hard, putting him down when he got old and sick. I wish I had more time with him. I got him when I was two years old because my parents knew I loved animals.

My Dad's amity so he adores animals and freaking Rose is a vegetarian with him- so we love animals. They knew it the moment they named me Christina but he's gone and that sucks. I still smile at the memory.

His eyes shine. "Why don't you just get a dog after initiation if you're feeling that nostalgic?" Will asks.

That makes my stomach lurch and my smile leaves. Another one? After all that I did? It was traumatizing enough to have to see a dog die. It's just... you get a dog if you're ready to feel devastated in ten years or so.

"Because... Dogs are sort of ruined for me," I say while I look at my potatoes and salad. "After... you know, after the aptitude test."

I quickly look up and Will seems crestfallen. I understand. Me too. They all exchange looks. We're not supposed to talk about the aptitude test. It's social protocol and a thing we all do. It's private and it's a rule but rules were meant to be broken. Besides, I trust them. A lot more than I should. But I do.

"You mean... killing the dog, right?" Will says, finally.

After years of silence, he seems uncomfortable and I know he's carried around guilt too. I barely nod. I can't look at dogs without bells going off. I feel like a murderer. The blood wasn't on my hands but I couldn't wash it away.

"Yeah," I confirm. "I mean, you guys all had to do that too, right?"

Al nods across from me, looking dour. I snub any surprise I feel.

I notice Tris's odd behavior. "You didn't," I say.

Tris looks startled. "Hmm?" she says innocently. Like she hasn't been fidgeting for the last five minutes.

"You're hiding something. You're fidgeting," I say.

"What?" she says in a pitch higher than before.

Al and I exchange looks. What's she hiding? Come on, I am a human lie detector, I will figure it out soon.

"In Candor," Al nudges Tris' much smaller shoulder. "We learn to read body language so we know when someone is lying or keeping something from us."

Will is the one who doesn't say anything, just steadily watching Tris for a few moments. Her cheeks color under Al's intense stare. "Oh," she says in a dull voice. She reaches up and scratches her neck. "Well..."

"See, there it is again!" I say and I point at her hand.

Tris freezes and shoves her hands in her lap. She looks disappointed and scared, a bit. "No, I didn't kill the dog," she says, defeated.

I raise my eyebrows. Didn't she kill the dog? Why... why did she choose Dauntless if she didn't kill it? She never expected to talk about this... So maybe that's why she's so reluctant to tell. She's doing really well for someone who didn't get Dauntless. I understand. I lay off a bit. Al just looks even more love-struck. Which is kinda- gross? He's getting all hot for someone who killed a dog? Admitted to murder. I'm just a hypocrite- my thoughts should like shut up.

"How did you get Dauntless without using the knife?" Will asks, narrowing his eyes at her. Suspicious.

With a bit of leftover hostility, she looks him dead in the eye. "I didn't. I got Abnegation," she tells him, asking for a challenge.

They stare at each other, locked in this silent debate and I tilt my head a bit. "But you chose Dauntless anyway? Why?"

She smirks a bit. "I told you," she says playfully. "It was the food."

I can't help but laugh. The boys look bewildered and I explain. "Did you guys know that Tris had never seen a hamburger before she came here?"

They like the story but I can't help but wonder why she let out a sigh of relief after she diverged our attention. She's hiding more than that. I have to figure out what it is.

* * *

In about a minute or so, Four will be announcing the results of his thought process. I am so nervous, I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. It's so difficult to think and my mind hurts. Will I make it? Will I get kicked out? I mean, I won a whole lot. Then I lost a lot too. When I go back to the cafeteria, for a muffin- I see Eric. He sees me. Why do we always do this? I shake my head and look away. Then I hear footsteps and he's right where he stops.

He just says, "Four."

"What? What does that even mean?" I snap.

"Just four," he shrugs.

"Since they don't make sense, I'll make a new definition. You have exactly four seconds to get away from me,"

He just nods and walks away.

I sigh. That was way too easy. And I wanted him to yell at me a lot more.

* * *

Later on, I somehow stand in the crowd of initiates, going to the dormitory. I see Peter waiting outside of the dorm, watching everyone who comes in. His posse of degenerates isn't there. He's just checking people out, standing normally. I'm on edge. I have to get a good place in the rankings or else I'll be gone. I'm also nervous about what my mother said.

Transferring out of Amity to be with my mother? Why... Why did he love her so much? I reflect on this for a mere second before deciding I don't want a headache. I try to pass Peter.

"I bet you'll be dead-last," Peter says.

His dark hair gleams in the light while he quirks a sculpted eyebrow towards me. He's actually quite handsome. One can say angelic. He looks like he's about to take care of you and say pretty words but no, he turns around. He degrades people's self-esteem over the series of months, acts rash and violent while mocking and hurtful.

He looks like an angel before Satan took over. His hooked nose points at me and his mesmerizing green eyes focus on me. A beautiful psychopath.

"You, you are a dead last." he says.

Me? I'm a dead last! It took everything in me not to body check him into the rocky wall. Instead, I curl my fist and yell, "What did you say?"

He laughs and it's like a melody. "So... I get it now. So the stiff is small and useless but you're deaf and bitchy," he concludes. "Good to know."

"Your asshole must be so jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth," I say, rolling my eyes.

He laughs dryly. "I'll still be in Dauntless while you're a nobody. I'm not surprised."

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if someone curb stomped you at midnight because of some dumb shit you said," I retort.

"No when can touch me from up here, at the top of rankings. The difference between you and I is huge and it will show as you become factionless. I'm literally looking down at you," he says and compares our height.

He is looking down on me. He is taller than me, and I am tall. 5'8 and I am proud of this height. He's a bit shorter than Four and taller than Eric, who's about 6 feet. Screw the male puberty height difference. Screw him!

I nod, completely irate but I manage to keep cool. "There's a difference between you and me, smart ass. But it's not that. You do evil things. You say awful things and you hurt people but you like them. You always get away with it."

"Half of the fun is getting away with it," Peter says, shining his dark green eyes at me. "Why should I believe a word you say? I can't trust a dead-last's advice if they can't help themselves first, can I?"

I just grind my teeth and stand my ground. "Be careful, you casket-boy or else I'll put you there."

"Let's hope you stay long enough, shall we? Perhaps, you can get your friend Al to help you but he won't be there, along with you."

"Jump into the chasm, Peter. Into the chasm," I say loudly, hoping he knows my rage.

"I'd rather throw someone else off first," he says thoughtfully. I don't know if he's joking and that scares me.

"Like you would," I say. "You're not a killer."

"I know but Al-"

I can't handle this anymore. "But whatever-"

I brush past him and I can feel my mood drop. They're going to announce the rankings. My palm sweats and I feel Peter behind me. "Careful Christina. Don't play with fire if you don't want to get burnt."

"Piss off," I hiss.

I can't make it through the wall of silent initiates so I am stuck beside the jerk-off until Four's done announcing the rankings.

Peter looks pleased. "Now I can see your failure up close."

"Do you want to see my fist up close because I can give a better view?" I ask, holding up my fist.

He just hisses and I smirk. I see that the blackboard is on the ground, leaning against Four's legs, facing away from us. There's a swipe of white chalk on his cheekbone that I want to reach out and wipe away.  _Which is not a thought I should have._

"For those of you who just came in, I'm explaining how the ranks are determined," Four says. "After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for improving and more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don't reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice."

For his last sentence, he looks pointedly at me. But I know he just described Peter and I realize his blue eyes landed on Peter's cold green ones, behind me. Not me? He wasn't looking at me. AND WAIT A HOT SECOND! Why is Peter's chin right over my shoulder?

I snort. "He just read your profile, sadist," I tell him in a low, barbed voice.

Peter just scowls at me but doesn't say anything.

"If you have a high rank, you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent."

Molly growls or something.

"Stage two of training is weighted more heavily than stage one because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice," he says. "That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one."

Peter just leans forward, his lips next to my ear. "He just called out a coward, that was your m.o."

"Shut up, you ass," I elbow him.

He releases a breath of air that reminds me of a laugh. "If that hurt, you would have hope but it didn't. Damn. Pack your bags."

I just move forward, in anticipation of my ranking. "I'll be first," Peter whispers, just to antagonize me.

"We will announce the cuts tomorrow," Four says. "The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not... will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and none of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof. That said, here are your ranks."

He looks at each of us in an intimidating way and picks up the medium-sized blackboard. He turns around and places it on a hook. He finally steps away, revealing our ranks.

_1\. Edward_

_2\. Peter_

_3\. Will_

_4\. Christina_

Forth. I tilt my head and frown. Oh, my god, Eric revealed my rank beforehand. But I am forth? Oh my god. Oh my god. I didn't... I am in the top five. Thank god. I am not going home. It's natural that Edward got the top spot-

I turn and look at Peter. There's a deep scowl, in contrast to the smug look he had on his face when he claimed he would be first. It baffles me just how dangerous he looked. Darkness consumed his features and his green eyes were black. Fishbowls.

He's not happy. He's in second place. I feel someone staring at me, it's not Eric this time. I scan the crowd of dejected people and notice Eric staring at me. He gives me a salute. I quickly look away, hot and bothered. Why did he tell me? Fourth place? He... told me beforehand.

_5\. Molly_

_6\. Tris_

_7\. Drew_

_8\. Al_

_9\. Myra_

Tris got a good spot and I am happy. Will is in the top three. But Al. He's almost dead last. I shake my head. Damn it. I look at him and Al stared at the board, complete and utterly destroyed. The silence jumps out the window when Molly glares at me.

"What?!" she growls. she points at me with her ugly mug. "I beat her! I beat her in minutes, and she's ranked above me?"

"Yeah," I cross my arms and feel my lips twist into a satisfied smile. "And?"

Molly curls her fist and I feel smug. I'm above her. Ha. Suck it, Molly.

Four notices that little foam bubbles are forming in the corner of her mouth. "If you intend to secure yourself a high rank, I suggest you don't make a habit of losing to low-ranked opponents," Four says, all smart.

He says that jarring comment and Tris pointedly stares at the ground. He passes us, pockets the chalk and leaves. I don't think anyone should pocket chalk. Especially- like white chalk but whatever. Doesn't he care about his pants? And chalk is dry- really it's whatever. I nod but his gaze wanders to Tris. It's almost as if she called her a low-ranked initiate. I thought they were cool and impressed with each other. I guess not.

Molly unhinged her clenched jaw and turned to Tris, fire burning in her eyes.

"You," she says quietly and attempts to step closer to Tris.

I shake my head and step in Molly's path, blocking her view of Tris.

Molly rolls her eyes and hisses; "You are going to pay for this."

It's silent for too long and she turns on her heel and struts out of the dormitory. I sigh at the release of tension.

Will immediately finds my gaze and smiles. "You made it, after all."

I smile back. "Good rank, Will. I'm proud of you."

"I can't say that I am not impressed." he tells me honestly. He gives me a genuine nod. "I'm impressed."

"I'm pretty good at everything, Will. Get with the program,"

He gives me a well-earned high-five that I enthusiastically return. We turn to Tris, who looks shocked at the threats Molly made. She gets out of her daze and gives a modest smile. Will claps Tris on the back, flashing a brilliant grin. Beside Will, she looks like a short stack of pancakes. His hand was bigger than her shoulder blade. She looks up at him.

Will calls out, "Look at you. Number six."

"Still might not have been good enough," she says, wincing her sea-grey eyes and letting her gaze fall.

He shrugs, letting out a rejoicing laugh. "It will be, don't worry," Will assures her. "We should celebrate."

We should celebrate. We should. Somewhere nice with alcohol and boys and alcohol, did I mention alcohol?

"Well, let's go, then," I say loudly. I clasp my hand around Tris's arm and tug on Al's with my other hand. Al hesitates and sends me a pleading look. I try to smile in reassurance despite the fact that everything was not in fact alright. For him, at least.

I stroke his arm a bit. "Come on, Al. You don't know how the Dauntless-born did. You don't know anything for sure."

"I'm just going to go to bed," he mumbles dejectedly. He pulls his arm free.

I sigh. "No celebrations to-night, huh," I ask quietly. Sad. What about the alcohol?! Sigh. My mother gives me major cravings for vodka. Something worse; like absinthe. Fuck. 

Why don't they want to party with me? And I need Al. 

Fuck.

Tris nods and Will joins. I see Peter and I watch him quietly moving away. That's unnerving. If there are no celebrations, I should at least thank someone- a pierced, grey-eyed asshole whose sole salutes make me even more confused then math class and boys.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	7. Nice Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christina and Eric get drunk

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 7-  
Nice Blood

* * *

In the middle of the hallway, I run to Eric and stop, not knowing how to react. He just looks moderately happy.

I just purse my lips and cross my arms. "You... you told me, beforehand-"

Interrupting me, Eric shrugs a shoulder. "What about it, Rookie?" he grumps.

His voice is harsh and I am tired of him just talking too much. Infuriating as he is, I want him to just pay attention. He didn't let me finish. For some reason, it's hard to look at him so I kick the dirt.

"You'd know if you shut up," I snap, unfolding my arms.

His dour expression changes as he gets closer. He continues to pass me. "You're wasting my time..."

I didn't finish, damn it. "Wait," I call out.

He ignores me. I scoff, offended in a twisted way. In haste, I reach for his arm and he takes this as a sign of attack. His Dauntless training kicks in. He grabs my wrists and pins them over my head as he pushes me backward. He slams me against the hard rock wall, holding me in place. Volatile asshole.

Then it registers after the pain flares. His body- is pressed against me. It feels unnatural but so right. I smell the scent wafting off of his skin and breaths hot against my ear. It hurt when he pushed me back but- it's all gone.

His lily petal-soft lips graze the delicate skin above my right temple. I figure when my boobs were pressed against his chest, he knew I wasn't going to attack him.

He feels so warm and I tense up, not able to look at him in the eye. He inhales my scent and I've never been so dangerously close to him. It's dangerous. It feels scandalous like something, anything, everything was wrong with the position we were in.

If I reach down, then... Aw... fuck. My thoughts can't verge on dirty. I can't think of anything but grinding a bit. I bit my lip, what if someone comes? I- we can't be doing this. All my limbs are frozen with the hesitation and my subconscious agrees I can't move.

I hate him. Why is he pressing against me? Why am I melting in this way? What's happening? It  _feels_  good. I haven't been close to anyone but Peter in this way. Yes, I hate him. My chest heaves and my heart takes off.

Once I calm down, he releases my arms and I lower them, voluntarily. His fingertips burn marks on the curve of my hips. "What were you going to say?" he whispers into my hair. It runs shivers up my spine. He's making me lose it. I am out of control.

"Thank you," I say quickly, in a choked way. 

Maybe he told me for a reason but being near to him feels lovely. My arms settle on his biceps, helping how firm and taut his muscles are. My ears scream with my pulse and it sounds like millions of bees flying around my head. I can't really focus.

"I still hate you," I add. I was being too nice. I want to shut my mouth because I will probably love this. Let this happen. Though, I shouldn't. Yeah. I shouldn't.

"I'm glad you didn't get cut," he says lowly and I try not to lean in.

"I'm glad you didn't cut me," I admit, affronted but happy. "Why were you watching only me?"

"I'm watching future Dauntless material," he says, every word like liquid euphoria poured into the river of my soul.

"You think I will be Dauntless?" I gasp. His halo-white smirk is beautiful and strangely colored in the blue light. A smirk could mean so many things. It's like a dull blade to my neck in this case. I laugh, squeezing his arms unconsciously. Wait- did I, get in because of him? And is this super like- wrong? Oh my god- we shouldn't. He is my instructor!

"You have some pull. It was all you and maybe you could get off of me, asshole," I say with some dignity left.

He blinks at me like he doesn't recognize me for a few moments. "Did you know that you're rude sometimes?" Eric says and rips his body away from me.

I can't help but feel sad at the loss of heat. That's all. "I know but I have stuff on my mind. You know, I can be- no, I am decent sometimes," I say, crossing my arms.

"Is it when you're asleep?" Eric asks. "Possibly unconscious and unable to say anything."

I feel exposed like he's seen me naked. "Do you watch me sleep?" I yelp.

"No. Why would I do that?" he asks, taking umbrage. "I'm not a creep!"

I am unnerved so I just secure my arms around myself. I don't know why but I have to tell someone. I sigh and sit, my back on the rock wall. "I made it but my parents couldn't care less. None of my friends would drink with me," I tell him. 

While showing some compassion, he sends apologetic feelings with his stares.

"Don't pity me though," I remind him.

"Hard not to," he says. "Not even just for this."

I send him my best forlorn look. That's the opposite of what I just damn said. He switches gears and continues talking.

"Anyway, you're too young to drink," Eric says, crossing his arms.

As if he knew we'd be talking for a while, he settles across from me in the rock-lined hall. Isn't he too young for being a Dauntless leader, which is a feat, I should commend him for but- no, too young?

"Excuse me. You're two years older than me and you do the whole act, smoking, and drinking," I defend myself because it's true.

"How do you know that?" Eric asks, sharp brow lifted.

I shrug, unable to meet his gaze. "You smell like it," I say, shy. "I have a nose for those things."

I find myself biting my lip, drawing blood so I wouldn't continue. He smells nice, smells like intelligence, I almost say but I don't and I filter myself.

Eric just eyes me and shakes his head. "You go 'round sniffing people? Who's the creep now?"

"Still you," I snap.

It's quiet and he just talks, filling the awkwardness with his soothing, melodic voice. "It'll wreck you if you're not careful," Eric clears his throat and his ever intense gaze lands on me.

"I'm already wrecked," I respond. "My vices aren't uncommon..."

He seems pleasantly surprised. "You're not a good girl, huh. Aren't you?"

Eric shakes his head, a happy, genuine laugh leaving the cave filled with his normally antagonistic words. "All this time the high and mighty Rookie has been playing in the mud of adulthood. Gettin' dirty."

"What about it?"

"I figured you out, Rookie. You're just missing your family," he shrugs, again.  _Apathetic_.

"Of course I am," I say quietly, with no fire like he expected. "Are you some unfeeling ice person? Didn't it hurt when  _your_  parents walked away?"

Eric chortles in a dry, sarcastic way. "No. My foster parents didn't give me the luxury. My parents couldn't wait to get me out by sixteen. Just moving from Erudite to Dauntless was a cherry on their cake."

"You too? You have problems with the 'rents?" I say, stupefied.

Lowering his angry stare with an acidic look in his eye was the way he responded. Eric just doesn't respond verbally. My question... Too personal. Whatever. He seems eager to learn about me- the curves of my hips, my parents, and other things but he clams up when I ask something. Cool. Not cool. 

I don't know why but I continue talking. "Walk away strong and independently," I say, reviewing my own personal memories. All these small things that my mom says reoccurred to me. "It hurts but I'm not leaving Dauntless."

"Good. Don't go," he responds in an uncomplicated but simple way. I don't know how to reply to him. "I'll hold you to that, number four."

"Four... I guess so," I repeat. I continue again. Like a dumb-ass. "It doesn't feel like Dauntless. We're all just killing ourselves for people who'll just kill  _us_."

"We won't kill you. You're safe," Eric insists.

I can't help but laugh, cracking up. My mouth twitches open at the irony of it all. "Am I, Sir? Am I? You sure as hell didn't assure my safety," I say accusingly, glaring pointedly at him.

He doesn't look sorry. "I did what I thought was best at the time," he says quietly. "You couldn't have just given up. I would have kicked you out right then and there."

"At the time?! I almost died," I snap. "All because of you and your dumb teaching ways."

"That was then. It is now, the present," he tells me and I can't believe him.

"Well. Just now, since it is the now, leave me alone," I murmur, seriously. I can't be near to him.

He just stays and I don't budge. Why did he touch me? Why did fireworks go off? I have to sort this stuff out. I have to sleep- I am not that tired. Perhaps... perhaps it'll get my mind off of some stuff. I dunno, I want to stay here without the prying stare of Eric on my body. He makes me nervous- in a good way. Is there a bad way? I have no idea.

"Do you mean that?" he rasps. "You want me to go?"

I swallow, avoiding his penetrating stare. I don't even know the answer myself but saying 'no' would be hurtful to say. "Yes."

"You're a one-woman army. Impressive." He chuckles richly.

"Go," I say loudly. "I want you to go." 

He observes me, like an animal at the zoo. Like he's got me all analyzed. He doesn't and he never will. "That's not true," he concludes then approaches me. I tense up and grit my teeth. "You need to take your mind off stuff. Tell me about it, ease your body."

"You're not gonna help me with that, so why bother telling you?"

He just throws an uncomfortably long side-glance in my direction. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod because it's literally a no-brainer. He just shines that smirk and it involuntarily warms me up to the point of boiling. I need to take a cold shower. Why am I boiling?! Ugh.

"Come with me to the roof. I'll show you something," he tells me.

"You have the keys to the roof?" I gasp... then I realize. "There's a roof?"

"I have keys to everywhere. If you're with me, you'll get access to anything. The world is boundless. The world is your oyster," he says.

"No. It really isn't. I hate oysters," I roll my eyes.

"Oh. That's what you were about to say?" he says quietly.

Back then, before my parents showed up. Has he been thinking of me for that long? Really?

"Why do you remember my words?" I ask, feeling warm, again.

"I remember every little thing you do. I hate that but it's an Erudite trait," he looks away. "God, I came to Dauntless to avoid geeks and memorization and facts."

"No," I protest. "Do you know how much easier life is if you remember everything? If I remembered something good, maybe I would've made better choices."

"If you're here, how bad can these notorious choices be?" Eric huffs, amused.

"Oh. Don't let me down that rabbit hole. I crashed my dad's cart to taste your old faction's lemonade. It wasn't great and it was cold, since it was late December," I avoid his gaze.

"You idiot. Lemonade is a summer drink."

I grin, embarrassed. "I know- that's why I wanted it even more."

"You're a dunce. Is that why you like smart guys? Is that why you always hang around Will?"

"Uh- are you jealous?" I ask, swallowing thickly.

 _Please say yes. Please say yes._  Or not. It's whatever. It's... whatever.

He gets up and stiffly moves away, ignoring me and my question. "I refuse to answer that question but celebrate a fourth place in... joy. Celebrate in a different way. The stars are better than waking up with a hangover."

I look at him then at the less harsh edges of his concrete jaw. His stellar, cosmic smile was under his sculpted nose and his eyes were a-glimmer with interest. He wants me to go with him? Why? Aren't there other better things to do? My friends didn't want to celebrate with me. Al is just depressed and I just wanted to mope around. I am so bored.

"Get up, you'll get purple wall dust all over your ass," he grumbles, offering a hand.

I bat his hand away, not caring how offended he looks. I pull myself up. I still want to drink. My parents tired me out and I just want an escape. "Hangovers aren't too bad. Get me a bottle and I'll go with you," I tell him, smiling.

He just shrugs. "What kind of girl are you?" he asks casually, swiping through options in his mind.

I want to hit him. What kind of girl am I? What is he implying?

Sensing my blatant, clear anger, he clarifies. "With drinks."

"Single malt scotch," I respond quietly.

He parts his lips in shock then closes them. "I like scotch too."

I just look away because the intensity of his stare is too much. What am I even doing here? Then he says to wait there. I do. He comes back with two jackets and a bottle, several beer bottles too. The jacket for him is obviously bigger and seems more rugged, worn. Mine is quite shapeless, like an autumn jacket.

It feels like a... date. Not a fancy... first date where the guy secretly wonders if he could hold the girl's hand without seeming like a creep. No. It's the one... where two people are going to drink, have fun and kiss under the stars, who are dating. And comfortable. I can't get any ideas, now can I? Why did he get me a jacket?

"You're worried about me getting cold?" I ask, not knowing what to say.

"No. I'll be damned if you can't train tomorrow because of a hangover added with a nasty cold," he says harshly.

"Same difference," I say. He cares. That makes me feel warm, though I do not have the jacket on.

He just gives me an incredulous look and takes me on a walk- that somehow leads to the roof.

While we trudge through the hallways, I look at him cautiously. There's something very wrong with what we're doing. I've been with men older than him and it never felt this... elation. It doesn't feel natural, either. We go through unfamiliar trails and it's not uncommon for me to stumble. I sometimes hold onto him for momentary support then back off. I power through it with boiling blood. The bottles gleam in his hand and I wonder if he really wants to drink. I want to. I'm tired of all this stress. Plus, alcohol numbs the pain. The small talk era from earlier is over as I silently follow him to danger or to freedom.

His arms are bulging with muscles that my hand felt earlier. I feel the ghost of his touch on my skin and the warmth of his skin close to mine. It's delicious.

We go up flights of stairs. I would have been winded but I'm in Dauntless, stairs are a given. I just wipe away the sweat on the brim of my brow and look up at him. I get caught up in staring at the leopard-like grace of his body and movements.

Another part that I want to trace with my fingertips. The parts that weren't explored- his tattoos. His black and white and soft skin... I look at his tattoos that are like fabricated sleeves in the dim light, interesting. One tattoo is larger than the others. 368... I want to ask but I don't. I think it's important to him but how, I don't know.

"Did they hurt?" I blurt out.

"What?" he says, looking back at me.

I elaborate. "Your tattoos? Did they hurt?"

"No," he scoffs.

It flabbergasts me. Didn't they? How so? Why aren't they... hurting? I never understood following through with actually getting a tattoo. He has so many and all of them are delicately designed and detailed. He has to have been under the tattoo gun for hours... Days.

He's a lot more durable than I thought.

I can contain my astonishment. So I do. "Even with the tattoo piercing your skin? All those times. In and out, in and out with ink... No pain?"

"There are worse things to feel," he echoes.

These mindless drawings are those of violence and him wanting to feel something. These things are printed pieces of his private identity. Dauntless get tattoos because it's the norm and it's so cool. I have a feeling his tattoos are just some extension of himself... It leaves me on a bittersweet note. I slow down my pace, wondering why we're moving so quickly.

"But the pain." I add, for some reason.

"Ignore the pain and all aches in pursuit. You have to bleed to feel alive. We all smile out of fear. That's what the Dauntless are," he tells me, chuckling softly. "What's a little pain?"

"I'm still not used to it," I grumble honestly. I don't have any crises that need to be engraved, carved out for everyone to see. These questions haunt me.

He scoffs, seeing my reluctance as weakness. "Don't be a beauty queen in tears."

"I'm not a beauty queen. That... doesn't matter- what's your first tattoo?" I have to ask.

"Why do you want to know?" he narrows his eyes.

"You have so many and I think I want to get my first one. Where do I start? And where did the Dauntless leader Eric start?"

"It looked alright in the pictures. A four-leaf clover," he tells me. He was forthcoming with the information and just avoided my stare.

I laugh. "Sir, that is so cheesy. A four-leaf clover? Classic."

He doesn't seem impressed by my getting entertained by that. "Cheesy? It's my adoptive mother's name," Eric scoffs. "What kind of name is Christina?"

"It's from the Bible. Well... that's what my mother said," I say, kind of miffed.

"The Bible is just a myth," Eric guffaws.

He's mocking me. Bibles do exist. So do religions. We don't have them anymore but they are still there. And plus, I didn't know he was cultured enough to know what they are. I heard that before... factions, there were Bibles everywhere. One in everyone's household.

I just ignore that.

I then stop, following the line of his jaw with my perceptive gaze. "What? Were you adopted? That's a thing in this... society?"

"Shocker, I know," he says glumly.

But- like cross-faction adoption is so rare because it never works.

Studies show that the parents who have different personality traits lose interest in their child or so they say. It usually leads to a misalignment of... familial relationships. How... by who? Who was he adopted by? Is that why he's so miserable and... insane? He's not sound of mind and he hasn't been for years, however, he got his mother's name tattooed. Why ever would he do that? It makes no sense.

"What are you looking at?" he asks and I immediately stare straight ahead.

"Nothing," I snap. I just have to ask. I have to satiate this curiosity. "When were you... adopted?"

"When I was eleven. Yeah. Not a fun time," he says, surprising me with an answer. 

I look back at him, wondering. "Was Madame Clover good to you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't have to kick her ass."

He looks away quickly after I say that. I want to know more! I really do. He clears his throat and shakes his head. "That's enough pillow talk for today." 

"Excuse me?" I stop in my tracks once again, this time crossing my arms and scowling. Did he just imply what I think he's implying?!

"You'll have to put out for me to say something personal," he says, getting cheeky and seductive.

"You're such an asshole," I snap.

"Oh. Rookie- shut up-"

I gasp. "Don't tell me to shut up."

"Shut up. We're here."

At a door. A thick steel door. "Hm. So impressive a thick, steel door. Hangovers aren't much better than stars my ass," I grumble.

"Do you never shut up?" Eric snaps as he fishes the keys from his pocket.

"Only when I sleep."

"You are the cause of many migraines, did you know that?"

As long as you're thinking of me, I'm fine. "Good," I say with a tight smile.

He opens the door and I am met by a gust of wind going through my clothes. My legs are bare and the skirt I wear doesn't seem as long. The jacket Eric offers me is past my thighs and I feel quite naked when I zip it up. The fishnet pattern on my tights do nothing. The roof. It's not even very big but we're definitely high up enough to see the people wandering down below as ants. Small, insignificant ants. The buildings are skeletons with debris littering the ground, chipped, uneven concrete and broken windows. I didn't know that's why we went up so many stairs.

I ignore all of that when my gaze tips upwards.

The stars are out. It's breathtaking. It's never been so clear and so dark out here. It is just a phenomenon.

I relax a bit.

I never was allowed to look at them when I was younger. There were constellations and other fun pictures in the sky. The glittering of the biggest stars reminds me of Eric's piercings in the light, when they glint and glitter.

He watches me with a half-coy smile on his face. It makes me feel like he's been watching me for a while... and I didn't even notice. I just mumble words to get him to stop looking at me like I'm a child. I know he's looking at me because the stars... is something so beautiful and ever-present that it's strange to admire it.

I wave him off. "Shut up. Any words from you will make this sight any less beautiful."

"It's not that delightful," Eric shrugs. "It loses its novelty when you've seen it millions of times."

"Why come up here at night? Can't sleep? Not enough kids to scare in their nightmares?" I taunt.

He just shakes his head. "No, idiot. I work a lot and come up here to cool my thoughts," Eric shifts in place, watching me. "You're not out at night, are you?"

"Never. My parents were strict... My curfew was always so much earlier than other kids. Night and blackness are so much better than light..." I say insightfully. "But not here..."

"What?" he lifts a brow at my newfound enthusiasm. "Why?"

"It's just a shame we Dauntless spend all of our time underground when the world is so beautiful like this. Wearing all black and fighting amongst ourselves like rats. Caged rodents. Metal animals, we can't even feel what we're doing is wrong..."

"You have a Candor's mouth, a Dauntless's cussing and drinking habits and an Amity's outlook on life. You're missing out on the Erudite part of you, now, aren't you? The brains, no?"

I just send him a dark look and reach my hand out for the honey bottle of scotch. "You're a rat. Don't drink with me!"

I walk out to the railing after kicking away pebbles and spotting the rainwater in puddles. I sit on the railing and drink. He didn't have tiny shot cups nor did we have ice cubes to lighten the harshness of the taste. Instead, I took long swigs. Eventually, he joined me and I refuse to hand him the bottle. After a couple or so minutes, he stole the bottle from my clasp and I poke him.

"Get your own. I would like to be alone, man." I ask, swallowing the bile-tasting drink. Damn him. Everything is warm. I feel myself letting go. I... feel alright. It's cool to the touch, gums tingling, heating up my throat and I feel the warmth settle in my chest. Ah. My heart is cradled with the taste. Ah. Bitter on my tongue, pooling hot coals in my stomach, and... I feel it. I feel it all. 

"Why are you still drinking with me?" I continue. I wanted to be alone and he isn't... supposed to be here.

"If you haven't noticed, you're the one who lets me stay," he says. "I bought it, so I drink it too." he grunts out, adjusting himself.

He seems to be closer to the edge now than me. Most normal people would be terrified of what two drunk teenagers are doing. They would have that first thought of  _trouble._

"Fair enough," I respond huskily. In this light, I can't see all of his details but that's alright. "I still don't like you, at all."

He just chuckles. "Huh? I still don't like you either," Eric responds with the same rough, whiskey drawl as me. "It's mutual now, eh, Rookie?"

I nod and a little laugh escapes my mouth. That said... He's the most brutish, aggressive man I've ever met. We don't have to talk... We could drink. The stars are out, the windy breeze feels nice and I am relaxed, if not a little tipsy. It feels great to be with someone... Even better that it's Eric. Why did I want him to go? That's the question that comes out when I take more drinks of the scotch. My cheeks feel warm, my body feels heavy and I feel elated. Everything in my periphery seems to glow. This life is great but it has drawbacks.

"How much trouble would you be in... if we were caught?" I ask suddenly. Because thinking of the bad, anything bad that could happen makes me uncomfortable, especially if it concerns Eric. 

Was he always this fun and nice? That's the real shocker.

He shrugs. "You'd be factionless and I would lose my job." he says with an uncaring tone and an ease that shocks me. 

Factionless? That takes my breath away. Him losing his job kills me. What the hell? 

"Why take the risk?" I blurt out, wondering.

He lifts a shoulder again, very lazy in his response. "Why not? We're Dauntless,"

Why take the risk for me? I'm the person he hates most... in this entire place. And... and I also am not allowed to drink... near the railing, near my death with one misstep that could end it all. It's nice... drinking like this but it's oh so dangerous. I don't think I understand the ramifications of this meeting. They won't physically hurt yet... but I know there will be trials and tribulations stemming from this... fateful yet willing encounter.

"I understand..." I tell him.

"That's a first," he teases gently.

I shake my head. No... I think we both understand- at this point that, our dislike isn't mutual... In fact, it's quite the opposite. I like him very much, just not in a conventional way. He's my drunken friend, drunken confessions. He's my drunken words and drunken loss... My sober thoughts, sober companion. Sober burns and sober thoughts. What have I gotten myself into?

"You're not so bad-" I start saying then... Then, I catch myself. When he gives me the brown bottle, we drink from it. My mouth where his mouth was. I want to taste the real Eric.

Indirect as it may be, I felt like something changed. Maybe I'm being delusional. Maybe I'm drunk. As with the twinkling of the stars and drowning, nursing of this new feeling... I understand completely.

"You're really the worst," I smile. Best... that I've ever had. Really.

He looks at me, at the beer bottles he brought and the scotch one I am nursing right now. "You never told me what happened after the lemonade-car crash. So- tell me," he shrugs.

"You made it sound so romantic. It was the end of a significant relationship though. After I never got a taste of lemon water and whatever, my father forbade me from working with cars. It was my dream, to be just like him. It broke my heart, my dad's heart and I have an old truck that I never finished because of my escapade."

"Oh... tough times and broken hearts, huh," Eric looks away, almost embarrassed at my personal story.

I sigh. He gets it. "Lost loves and broken dreams. Can you imagine- me, a mechanic?" I whisper/ 

"No." he says honestly. 

"Maybe it wasn't meant to be. And I'll never have that lemonade."

I love rolling down the windows, getting lost in Dad's shop and the leather. I still really wanted a car and he was so angry with me. Erudite got mad at my mother, it was a PR mess and Uncle Jack was just so angry at me. I embarrassed everyone all for the Erudite juice. I sigh. Why am I always prone to trouble?

Eric sighs, staring pointedly at the twinkling stars then at me. "If we haven't killed each other, I'll get you some lemonade... Yeah. Why do you keep on looking at me like that?"

"Get your eyes checked, buddy. I'm not looking at you." I say harshly.

The statement hangs in the air, like a fishing rod and the bait hasn't been chewed on and I'm still riding the wave of this odd hurt and buoyancy. I could float to space with how light my head is.

"You promise?" I ask lowly. "Even if I say the dumbest things to annoy you?"

"You annoy me on purpose?" he demands with curiosity. 

"I mean- not all the time." Most of it is just my personality. I sigh. Maybe I am annoying.

Eric reflects on it. "I'll still take you," he sighs.

Maybe I'm tolerable. I smile into my drink. He'll still take me though he contemplates killing me on a daily basis. I'm shivering- that's such good news.

"Candor are all air-heads anyway, you can't change that," he says, shrugging like _'what can ya do?'_.

I smack his arm, since he's that close. "Hey! It takes a lot of mental power to think of 27 debate arguments in the span of ten minutes!"

"Have you tried making 102 debate arguments in that span of time?"

My jaw drops. "T-that many?" 

"That was a normal Tuesday for me. Can you do that on any given Tuesday, Rookie?" he drawls, all arrogant. 

I tremble, my lip shivering. "N-no..."

"Figures," he says and I blow my fuse.

"Candor isn't dumb. We're not dumb! We get criminals that Dauntless catch and we free them with knowledge and wisdom! We're the philosophers you wish to have."

He looks at me for a long time, still staring with bewilderment. "So, let me get this straight; your faction frees the criminals Dauntless catches. That makes your faction stupidly redundant to society."

I gape while he continues. "We're both wordy intellectuals, me more than you- so let's celebrate with lemonade and ice and blizzards." he says. 

"That's so ironic." I chuckle.

"You know what ironic means?" he asks, chuckling and amused. 

I smack his arm even harder. "Shut up! We learn about literary devices. I read chapter books when I was in the second grade so shut up and just let me say ironic."

"Erudite don't like irony." he notes.

"I love irony. I'll go with you," I smile. "So, yes, I will." 

"Ah. The irony. Rookie says  _yes_ ," he says loudly.

It isn't irony at all. I think it was some sort of choice and what was bound to happen. But I laugh, laugh a lot. "I do say 'no' to you a lot, don't I?"

I keep on laughing and he eventually joins in.

I never knew my best night would be on the roof, several hundreds of feet in the air- blinking away tears because I'm laughing so hard. I'm here. Now.

Biting on the rim of my glass bottle of beer, thinking of him, Eric, oddly meeting him for the first time. Isn't that weird? It's super weird. I miss him for some reason. Eventually, we part.

And I stumble through the halls, wondering why Eric would steal a bottle for me, to steal some time with me. Why... Why is he in my head? Is this a headache? Why am I thinking about him so much? I just wanted to spend a dull night... wrapped up in the folds of my somewhat warm sheets. Someone was bound to notice my absence. If they didn't- good. I can't have prying eyes.

Eric escorted me to as far as the cafeteria and I go my own way. The walls are my guide for I am so sleepy and heavy will all my questions. I climb into bed, change my clothes and sleep with Eric's windbreaker jacket as a pillow. I keep on twisting and turning until I finally decide, I'm not going to sleep.

There's an edge. Something that's telling me- something bad is going to happen. It's dark but I can hear the light steps of someone probably trudging in a half-lidded state to the bathroom or the water fountains that are stupidly far away.

As I trail out of the dorm, I see Peter. His hair is disheveled and he looks just as tired as me. He came out just after me as if he were waiting for an opportunity to bother me. I can't think of a better reason of why he would follow me to the water fountains. So, I just think that his throat burns and he's also... dehydrated? Then he stops and clucks his tongue three times, acting like I am an unruly child. He looks like a shadowy, suspicious figure looming over the water fountains as he stands beside me.

My head feels foggy and I want nothing more than to crawl to my bed. "What do you want?" I say through my drowsiness.

He watches me, perceptively. He sniffs the air and hums a bit. "I heard you come in. Late. You smell like ethanol."

"What is that?" I groan. Question hurt my brain. Why is he shouting?  

"God- did you pay attention in science class?"

"I don't get boners for science, alright?"

"It's alcohol. Booze, if you will, idiot. You smell like it."

"So what?" I ask defensively. Is he awake- with the sole purpose of tormenting me? What a nuance!

He snorts. "You were out drinking, huh, Crissy. Again."

"Never call me Crissy or else I'll put you six feet under," I say after taking a few gulps of the cool, precious liquid. My throat stopped burning and I feel cleansed. "And what do you mean, again? You were at the same house parties too."

"That's so very juvenile, Crissy. We're adults now in a whole new playing field. We can't drink unless we want to be kicked out of Dauntless. Granted your position... you'll be gone anyway."

He was just as bad as me, asshole. Maybe not in the ranks of initiation but in terms of drinking and partying, he was always the first to hit the floor. He can't act like he's some angel and everyone else is below him. God. I hate him... so goddamn much.

"Edward could take you out in a heartbeat, Peter," I say. "So, shut up because he likes me and we could probably beat your ass."

His normally charming eyes harden. "Drew said he wouldn't see his defeat coming."

That's oddly... worded.

"Alcohol consumption isn't good," he shakes his head. "Maybe I should report you. If you have an addiction, I'll be glad to help you. The first step is always admitting you have a problem."

"Eat a dick, Peter. Terrorizing Tris isn't good either but you still do it," I hiss.

I wipe my mouth and cross my arms. He really wants to get a black eye, doesn't he? He keeps on testing me. I will swing if... it means getting him to shut the hell up.

"You know that Tris isn't going to make it. I'm just thinning out the herd and opening up our chances... Don't you know you're not supposed to get too close to others? We're all each other's competition. We are all each other's enemies."

He makes my blood boil! I suddenly explode, not caring that my voice is too loud. He's such a jerk! Even worse than Eric! "I hope that one day, you have people-"

Then, I hear a scream and Peter and I lock gazes. It curdles my blood and makes the hair on my neck stand on edge. We stare with equal amounts of wonder and horror. The roughness of the scream sounds terrifying and it rips through me. Why would someone scream like that?!

"Holy shit! What was that?" he asks, genuinely terrified. Without even thinking, I rush back to the dormitory. What happened? The lights aren't on but I hear wailing. There's panic everywhere in the dark. A large form, I identify as Molly pushes me out of the way, screaming hysterically.

"Watch it, idiot," Molly says after she gives me a huge shove. I move too quickly and trip over a metal rod of some sort. Hot pain races up my leg and I cringe as I tumble over onto the cold stone floor. 

"Turn the lights on!" Someone yells out.

I ignore the pain that blooms on my side, clutching my bruised leg. I roll over, wondering why the rusted smell of iron fills the room.  _Quickly_. Through the jungle of metal pole legs and baskets under the bunks, I see it in my periphery. Just as the light turns on, I see it. There is a crowd of other people surrounding the man on the floor, beside a bed. Writhing and screaming. A gasp leaps from my mouth as I connect the dots. The glinting of the knife in an initiates eye. I immediately go still and the pain of falling seems like nothing compared to the pain of a blade IN SOMEONE'S EYES!

What the... There's a pool of blood crashing over his- yeah, it's a he- his face and it's Edward. There's a bloody knife coming out of his eye! I jolt up, covering my mouth. I cannot throw up. This can't faze me. Oh. Yes. I'm weak and squeamish. This- it fazes me. I'm not a doctor. Who the hell did this?!

Myra screams and another person screams as well. In the flurry of chaos, someone calls for help.

Tris, being unnaturally calm, leans down beside Edward, knees probably where all the red is. I can't see straight and I can't hear properly. She's saying something- holding him down.

Oh god, someone vomited. I think I will vomit too. Why... oh my god. I want to vomit too. The acidic scent assaults my nose and I turn away. I know Tris is reassuring Edward and Myra's hysterical. Wh... What the fuck?! Why is this happening? A hand suddenly touches my shoulder and I whip around-

Will. Will's there. I just shake my head and glance in between the knife in Edward's eye. He's still opening his mouth- I can't hear him! I can't hear anything but the screaming. Oh god- the screaming. Will can't get through to me, so he just gathers me into his arms, pressing my head into the crook of his neck.

I am reluctant at first. Why is he hugging me? But he insists.  As I lean into his long-sleeved sweatshirt, I realize my eyes as wet and I am trembling. All over. Why is he so calm?

"Shhh... don't think about it," Will says soothingly.

I twitch to get out of his embrace. "But-" I struggle to look but he keeps me in place.

"Nah. Don't look. He will be alright," he says firmly like he wants me to believe that. It's the first time I hear him. What's going on. 

"Will-"

"Christina... He'll be alright. Trust it. Trust me."

I just allow myself to think like that and allow him to hold me. Though, it probably won't be okay for Edward. Man. The nurse comes and takes away Edward. Myra is on their heels. I want to say I knew I would see them again but I didn't. They wouldn't be seen.

* * *

I tighten Eric's overly large jacket around me. It's like I'm being consumed into this pool of darkness. I could hide away, go into another dimension because the fabric literally swallows me up.

Tris and I stand in the bathroom.

She washes her hands as I stand in the doorway, a grim expression on my face. She changed out of her clothes and now she wants to purify her hands.

I want to purify my mind. Why did it have to be stuck in my mind?

It's a macabre way to die... Jesus.

The water runs red as it streams down the sink, through the drain and to God knows where. She was the only person who actually helped Edward keep calm and not pick the knife out of his eye.

In moments like these, I wonder if I really know who Tris is. She acts weak and defenseless then she goes out and is brave... Braver than anyone I've ever met.

Is she my competition or is she just too nice? Am I getting fooled? She's nice... kind. No one else would have knelt down and done what she did... except for Amity but no one here is Amity. She's still super Abnegation. The puddle of his stagnant blood is on the stone floor. Uncleaned.

I know that I was with Peter when the knife was lodged in Edward's eye socket. He even looked horrified. Then again, he's been a cartoon-ish figure of violence for my entire life. He wasn't the one who did it. I don't know that. I'm not sure if he instigated it but he had a part in this- for sure.

The rest isn't as crystal clear. Molly shoved me out of the way but she was screaming. She didn't beam nor did she say something low-key threatening. Drew hasn't been seen since. Why is Dauntless like this? Why is it? I can't even stand it. The instructors, the leaders didn't come. They... don't even care about us. It seems. I shake my head, silently.

We're both caught up in our thoughts as Tris reaches for the door handle.

I say, "You know who did this, right?" 

She makes a puckered face and scowls, her gaze dropping to her pink hands. "Yeah."

A wave of relief courses through me. She knows. It comes down to Drew and Peter. Maybe I could... say something to Eric... Wait, since when can I trust Eric with that information? It could avenge Edward. I could get them kicked out. Tris shifts in her spot, not because she is uncomfortable but because she wants to say something. What's wrong?

I narrow my eyes. "Should we tell someone?"

She looks at me in a sharp way like I suggested we drink poison as wine at a feast. But I didn't.

"You really think Dauntless will do anything?" she asks harshly, scolding me a bit. "After they hung you over the chasm? After they made us beat each other unconscious?"

Yeah...  That's a hard no. I look away. Maybe not. I don't have anything to say after that. This place truly is messed up. Maybe it was a mistake coming here? Maybe. I don't even know what to do. I'm not stupid for wanting help, am I? Why is she making me feel dumb? Should I tell? I think we should have faith that the truth brings something? I've never talked to Max but I know that he might do something...

Will Four do something? If we do nothing... this cycle of violence will continue. Is it better to keep my mouth shut? This gives me more of a headache than the alcohol does. I try not to sigh too loudly when Tris scrubs the blood that Edward left and I throw away the paper towels. We part. I have no idea what to do.

* * *

The first order of business I do is find Peter, which is surprisingly easy. I just go to the training room and I see him, in an unusually meditative silent state. He looks torn and sleep-deprived like the rest of us do.  Yeah, the attack was at midnight. And my leg still hurts! An inconvenient time, actually. But it's morbid that Edward got stabbed and Peter's acting like this. He's still barefoot, sitting in the middle of the dark mat, staring at nothing.

"What are you doing, Peter? Waiting to get summoned by a demon king?" I call out to him. "Or are you just choosing the right knife to stick in Edward's eye?"

He gets snapped out of his trance as he looks up at me with dead eyes. "What the hell, Christina? I didn't do it. If I did, would someone with a brain as limited as yours pick up on it?"

"Mockery won't work."

"I could say the same to you!" he exclaims.

I roll my eyes. "Don't change the subject. You have to answer my questions, asshole! Did you or didn't you do it?" I yell at him. "There's something really messed up about you! You lie a lot and you cause so many problems for everyone!"

"Christina- watch your words," Peter warns, shoulders tensing.

I strut up to him and shout; "Why should I? I should actually watch your hands because they're trying to stab people's eyes with knives! Peter- did you do it?"

"No," he growls.

I lose control and smack his head. "Liar," I hiss. "Drew said Edward won't even see it coming?! What the hell is wrong with you two?"

He catches my arm and flips me. Pain explodes in my chest. With that, we engage in an intense fight until I land some punches and he lands some punches. He straddles my waist and sits on my stomach until I calm down. He holds my hands over my head and I breathe hard.

My lip is bleeding and I raked my nails over the spot just above his brow, so he has cuts. His chest heaves and I know I put up a fight. I deserve to be in spot number four. He doesn't deserve spot number two. He deserves a spot in hell!

"Get off of me," I yell desperately, struggling.

Why is he holding me down?! Fuck! I got into Dauntless so I wouldn't be overpowered! Damn it.

His eyes are wild and his brown hair is everywhere. I kick my legs under him and try to cause bodily harm but it is useless. All of it. He's too big and brawny for me.

Eventually, I tire out and breathe hard under the weight of him. He watches me carefully and the tension in his shoulders fall, dissipating.

"You've calmed down? Right?" he practically spits the words at me.

"Not until you confess, Peter," I cry out.

He squeezes my wrists tighter. I suddenly worry that my bones will snap. "Relax. I didn't do it. You know why I didn't do it?"

Just to humour him, I ask; "Why?"

"Because-" he says then roughly grabs my hand and brings it to space just under his neck, where his pulse is.

Oh. He wants me to. I don't want to. I don't want to at all. It's just enough for me to think that Peter is capable of doing awful, awful things. If I ask him the question while I check his pulse, I could tell if he's telling the truth. I flinch away. Candor used to do this exercise all the time. His skin is unnaturally hot and I thought the only bastard without hearts acted in such a villainous way.

He holds my fingers with an iron grip and I can't dislodge my limbs. I can't get out. Fuck. 

"Ask me, whether or not I did it," he orders me, sounding deathly irritated.

I flinch. "No. Go fuck yourself."

"Ask. Me," he says more forcefully, baring his teeth. It's almost a growl.

We stare for a few minutes, charged with hatred and accusation. 

I just resign myself to it. "Did you, Peter Hayes- the worse human to have ever lived, stick a knife into Edward's eyes?"

His pulse doesn't speed up nor does it slow down while I ask. His brilliant but hurt eyes shine with a new hesitancy. I just sigh and give up the fight. I don't have to look at him. I steel myself and take a little glimpse at Peter.

He meets my gaze and smirks. Evilly. "I'm still Candor, whether you like it or not and it works. You know the truth better than anyone," he tells me.

"Get off of me," I say as I push him over.

He pulls a fast one and I sit on his stomach, straddling him. I look down at him, sweat brimming my brow and the aches of our fight coming into play. I feel them. I need ice. I sit over him and ask the question many times, with my index and middle finger to his neck. I lean down and breathe hard. My stray hair that isn't gathered in a hairband falls across his face.

After clearing his throat and avoiding my stare, he just clicks his tongue. "Sitting on me is quite unnecessary," he says in his normal haughty tone.

"You will run away otherwise," I respond.

A smirk curls his lips. "I didn't know you wanted to keep me so badly."

I smack the side of his head. Hard. For some reason, there is a strange look on his face. I stare him down, wondering why he is such an awful person. The tip of my nose could touch his nose if he shifts up. We make solid eye-contact. Me just observing him while he watches my eyes flit over his face.

"Your pulse. It sped up," I say, perplexed.

I sit back down, my butt on his stomach.

"A girl is on top of me. What do you think will happen?" he scoffs.

I gasp, shrieking, "Ew! Stop thinking about that! Are you getting a hard-on?! Gross!"

Not denying or confirming, he looks away. "Then get off of me, Crissy," he hisses, cheeks reddening.

Such an asshole but just another idiot, seeing teenage boy. I breathe heavily and I push myself away from him. Ew. We both come down from that fight and I glare at him, cross-legged beside him. He watches me like a lion watches his prey. It's less creepy but it makes my skin crawl.

"Remember when we were kids?" he says suddenly, green eyes sincere and huge.

"Yes. I think  _everyone_  remembers when they are a child," I snarl.

"When you and I were kids. Do you remember that?" Peter asks, ignoring my snarl.

I chuckle darkly, feeling bile rise from the back of my throat. I stare at him in his eyes. "You know... a six-year-old angelic Peter Hayes pushed an amity girl off of the swing and blamed me. I wasn't allowed to go out for recess for a month since she broke her arm. My friends wouldn't even properly look at me, much less the other kids in our faction, Peter," I remind him. "Remember that?"

The air is thick with my heavy confession and the truth. He does seem to be affected, if not a little embarrassed. "Eh?" he says. Peter scratches his chin, looking innocent like he genuinely did not remember.

"It happened," I insist.

After a moment of staring at me and locking his jaw, he speaks. "That's the reason you started hanging out with me in grade two. You had no one, I thought it was all apart of my charm." 

"Yeah right! Like I would ever come to you for solace."

"You were all over me," he chuckles. "Now look at us."

The thought alone makes me want to puke. "No. I wasn't. There you go making shit up!" I snap.

"Don't you remember? I was your  _first_  kiss. Your mother stopped us from getting married in your garden with the dolls and toy cars," he says.

"Maybe I remember. Maybe I do," I say vaguely.

"You remember," he says, a hopeful spark in his eyes.

Why does he even care? Why would I be attracted to someone- something as monstrous as Peter? "Do I make you nervous?" I ask suddenly.

"Pfft, no," he snorts.

"Good. Forget whatever fantasy you have in your mind and make sure it's wiped away from your everything." I say. Asshole. How is it not him? How did he not stick the knife in his eyes?

He catches me and tends to his wounds, picking at his cuticles. "I'm not guilty. Would you stop looking at me like that?"

"No," I tell him fiercely.

"Well. Hate me all you want. I didn't do it,"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Just because you didn't do it doesn't mean you're not guilty of anything, scum," I say, getting ready to stand up.

He looks desperate as his gaze falls from my face and moves toward the door. "Stay the afternoon with me or I'll tell the authorities about your little escape to wherever- drunk." he rushes out, like a damn bursting. 

I take a moment before a string of insults could leave my mouth. I raise my brow. "Are you blackmailing me?" I ask.

"That depends on how you see it, Crissy."

"Yeah, I see it as blackmail," I tell him, getting more infuriated. I bend over half-way so I could level my gaze at him. "Blackmail!" 

"You could just give me a kiss and I'll leave you alone," he tells me in a sing-song voice.

"Really?" I ask, considering. This is killing me. Slowly. Slowly.

"Yeah, but that's something you'd never do so... stay. I'd love to torture you," he says slyly.

Fine. Here's to not getting tortured. I lean in. Here's to nothing.

I get down on two knees and I grab his chin. I kiss him. Hard and long, maybe even get a little tongue. I push him away. Panting.

"Wow," he says, breathless.

"You're not a bad kisser. Too bad you're an awful sadist," I tell him.

But there's satisfaction running in the forests of his green eyes and he seems elated. "Thanks."

We stare at each other, panting. His lips were rubbery, and he looks too much like Eric that it makes me want to kiss him. Kiss him. But- 

Peter then grabs me, roughly and I allow him to.

His lips capture mine and I let him prop me up on his lap as my arms went around his neck, carding my fingers through his short hair. His lips. Whatever he ate earlier that day -I guess, he drank soda and ate cashews- that taste was now in my mouth. He tasted good but kissed even better. And I couldn't stop kissing him. I want to say it was all about the trauma. Please be all about the trauma. And Eric couldn't get hurt if he told on me. Yes... it was all about the trauma.

* * *

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOoooo, you guys must be pissed at me for this last chapter but like it's all g.


	8. Affection

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 8-  
Affection

* * *

 

I wander around all day, actively hunting for Eric or even Four.

I can't find them anywhere. My mind blows up. I just sit in the shower, waiting for the day to end. Today has been filled with nothing but turmoil and bad luck.

I have barely slept and my head feels cottony. More cottony than I originally thought. It pounds... hurting with all the damn memories of me and Peter.

The steam gets stuck in my lungs. I wonder if this is the closest thing to a cigarette I could get my hands on. The water sprays against my back, hot and boiling but I couldn't care less.

Poor... Edward. So Drew or even Molly did it. Why can't I tell anyone? Why do I believe Peter? I wonder...

I don't feel like... wondering so I close my eyes.

The thing is, when I do that, I think about what he said. To me. About me. It can't be true. I don't actually know why I kissed Peter. It was more of an instinct than an actual desire. I would rather kiss him than be around him for like seven hours.

It's so hypocritical. He's so strange!

I'll kiss you if you leave me alone, he said. What kind of janked up logic is that? Kiss me then leave me.

Since when did Peter and I even become a thing? We aren't a thing. He just got a hard-on when I was near- which is just gross.

I heard about boys liking me. I'm of course liked, I'm likable. I wore skirts all the time, I didn't mind getting dressed up and I was a shameless flirt. Throughout my entire high school life, I liked flirting. It was my thing.

I, however, can't remember what happened between me and Peter. I used to keep a journal full of all the dirty things I've done with boys. I burned it, but I had to write it down. I would have written what we've done... Why would he request a stupid kiss?

Why did I actually do it? For some reason, it was easy to just lose myself in the kiss and just continue roughly. Just kiss without air. Just my fingers in his hair, hot against the nape of his neck and his teeth snagging the line of my upper lips.

He kissed me, in a feverish way. He might have whispered something perverted but he said it anyway. I might have laughed. I don't know.

I've been actively avoiding Tris as well and now I have problems with both of them.

What's wrong with him? I sigh and change clothes, trying up my hair. What's an even more pressing question; is there something wrong with me?

The loose black shirt stops just above my navel and my sweatpants are loose and baggy. I want to blend in with the shadows, be sightless, be formless today.

As I get out of the shower, I see Peter. He stops and I stop, us both blankly looking at each other.

I turn around and run, run, run. Until I am in some unrecognizable corridor to gather my breath, I run.

I just remember his lips- tasting good, like nostalgia. I can't even name it- like we've done it before. I hate that. I didn't brush my teeth because I didn't want to lose the taste. Instead, I run my tongue over the rim of my mouth.

And I sigh.

You can't run from your heart. Damn.

* * *

 

They give us a day off and I settle in the cafeteria, staring at my muffin.

I can't even eat cake. I look haggard. I feel haggard. I feel like a sidewalk. Bruised with kicks and substances and the sights I've seen. I've been trampled over.

Molly pushed me down so my back hurts. I saw Edward get stabbed so my mind hurts. I kissed Peter so my mouth hurts. I haven't consumed anything but vodka so my stomach hurts.

Hurts badly. Is that just the alcohol or do I have my period?

I haven't slept yet, which adds to my dilemma. I drank. Fuck. Am I hungover? I can't go back to the damn dormitory and I can't leave to anywhere else.

I notice the atmosphere of the gloomy eating place because the news spread around. If it were on a mission- do we even get missions? I don't know, in this- this my mind can't handle questions. There are no people talking but I can feel their stares tack onto my skin. Staying. Lingering. Watching.

I got a muffin like I usually did and I plopped down in a chair at an empty table. The texture of the table feels good on my elbows as I lay my forearms down and glare at my tray, filled solely with a muffin.

"Hey you," someone says, drunk as hell.

I look up, see someone's pointed finger. I find the source of the voice; a man with purple-dyed dreadlocks and a septum piercing called out to me.

"You look down. You were the one who saw the kid's eye get stabbed?"

I nod, feeling the alcohol burn my throat. I haven't drunken anything in like hours but it feels like it's filling my throat. Why did he have to remind me?

Then the most ginormous, vibrant grin fills his tan face. "Cool, cool, man."

What?! Cool, cool? What the hell? A man got stabbed and everyone is proud? Is no one... does no one care?

I look down at my muffin, suddenly not so enthusiastic to eat here. I should jus- just... I don't know what to do. I didn't come to... Dauntless to be... freaking, helpless. I'm supposed to be... helpful and strong.

I break the muffin open and what greats me is jelly. Yes.

I unwittingly, thoughtlessly chose the one with raspberry filling?! What kind of sick trick is this? It's not a joke! What the hell?

It gives me flashbacks.

I can't think of the red filling in the muffin without imagining Edward's eyes... Oh. God.

That wasn't alcohol I imagined filling my throat. It was the bitter taste of bile building up.

I'm gonna throw up.

I run to the trash can and throw up, hurling my breakfast and guts away. Other people just groan in disgust and I don't even care.

I then see Eric and he comes over to me, his nostrils picking up the scent of my vomit. I can't. Oh god. This is... just.

"Eric..." I say softly, not even knowing how to finish the sentence.

Like Eric, hi? Eric, get away from me? Eric, hold me, I saw something traumatic... Eric, Edward's eye! I didn't say anything because my muscles became kinda slack.

My legs become rubbery as I move forward, at least I try to. My stomach has a pound of lead and it sinks me.

I try to reach the chair. The world kind of tips over as I reach out for something to grab, something to hold onto. My knee comes into contact with the ground. I bit my lip, distantly feeling my lip become wet. Blood.

As much as my knee and everything hurts, the pain dissipates almost immediately.

And I close my eyes.

* * *

 

I wake up.

It smells nice- like cigarettes and rain. Then the other low-key scent of sweat invades my head. Before coming to Dauntless, I thought it was the grossest thing to care about- the scent of a guy's sweat. Now sweat represents other things- determination, hard work and it is attractive.

Despite that, I have no idea where the hell I am. It kills me. I open my eyes. My fingers twitch. My eyes water at the invasion of light blinding me.

There's a pain radiating from my body. I can't find its source, so everything hurts.

Illuminated ceiling. It's noon. Light spills into the room, casting shadows. It was pushing through, letting me know that many hours hadn't passed. Where am I?

I'm covered by a blanket- white and there's bookshelf dust floating in the air. I hear something coming out of the washroom.

"Who's there?" I call out.

No response.

Swallowing my fear, I look over on the nightstand. There is a bottle. Without thinking anything of it, I grab the neck of the beer bottle and slam it on the nightstand. The broken glass sparkles as the jagged edges are revealed.

"Who's there-" I yell again but I am interrupted.

"Damn it, Rookie," Eric says, rushing out at the sound of destruction.

He sees my wild eyes, the cracked bottle and the glass scattered across the dark-colored floor. He releases a low sigh from his pierced lips.

"Oh," I gulp... feeling so dumb.

My arm turns to a noddle. I lower the makeshift weapon, not realizing my arm trembled.

He raises his arms up as if surrendering to a criminal. "It's only me. No need to go survivor on me," he grunts, staring forlornly at the dirtied ground. "Now I've got to clean it up."

"Well- why didn't you respond?" I snap. "I was terrified,"

"My mistake, relax," he tells me then stops moving his lips.

"I thought I would die!" I wave my arm around. My breaths are loud. I can't keep my panic in.

"Calm. Be calm and breathe." he instructs.

We breathe together for a little.

Weirdly, his voice soothing me. It would be wonderful... if he just kept on speaking, talking like that and helping me get over my fear.

As he takes a step forward, the glass crunches under the weight of his thick-soled shoes.

I something unravels in me again. I try to calm myself but I am on edge. A deer in the headlights, still transfixed.

"Don't scare me like that," It sounds like a beg from the second it releases my lips. "Ever," I finish softly.

"I thought you were talking in your sleep," he explains. Annoyed. "You say some whacky stuff when you're out."

I still don't get it and he raises a pierced eyebrow.

"What? You don't know? You talk in your sleep, Rookie," he tells me. "So you don't shut up when you sleep. Noted."

"Noted?" I ask. My teeth grind after I clench my jaw. "Why would you care? It's not like I'm gonna be around you at nighttime."

He shrugs. "You never know,"

"I do!" I protest, my voice climbing in volume. "I do know!"

"I'm not the enemy here. What's up with you? Why are you so snappy?" he asks, seeming defeated and another thing I can't name. "I gave you alcohol."

"I literally saw a man's eye get stabbed and you're asking that?" I hiss at first but end with a loud groan.

Eric ignores my tone and sighs. "Must have been rough. Is that why you're throwing up and ditching sleep?" he asks, something like disappointment in his flat tone.

I shrug. "People react to things... in different ways," I admit quietly.

Tris and Al slept in the dorm. How can they do that? Edward's... blood is there. At least... like... we wiped it away but I will always identify the spot of where his life kind of maybe ended.

His eyes seem softer with the compassion that I maybe see. He looks concerned like I would do something rash. He eyes the bottle I wave around and reaches for it.

"Give me that," he gestures to the bottle.

I toss it to him.

He catches it. "Dangerous things shouldn't be with girls like you. When I am arguing with them, especially."

He goes to the kitchen and throws it away. I rub my arms, trying to rub some heat into them. It's not cold but I feel cold. Nervous. Maybe it's because I'm in his apartment?

I climb under the cover. It's the safest in there. It feels that way. Maybe I am fooling myself.  I don't even become aware of the sound of water shuttling out of the tap and into a cup. Eric returns, bringing me a cup of water.

"Drink up," he says.

Somewhat confused and weary, I look at him. "Why?"

"Don't ask why. Just drink. You're probably dehydrated," he scoffs.

I nod, seeing the logic in that.

I wobble while sitting up, getting the blanket wet. It's sort of hard to move because I'm so tired and why does my knee hurt? Everything hurts.

I just want to climb back into the nice-smelling sheets and sleep like a cat but it's Eric's room. I don't even know why he brought me here? Did people see my body in his arms? Did I look super dead? Did no one care? What the h-

"Today, initiate," he says.

He watches me face my demons as my inner-monologue continued. His words- they sound more like a warning he'd give us, his students when he's annoyed.

Why would he care if I... drank water? He's babying me. Giving me water. Asking if I am okay. Putting me in this insanely large, big bed with the soft, satin-looking sheets. Why are his sheets so nice anyway?

Why is everything he owns... so sleek and expensive? It's a continuing trend in the watch he gave me like it was nothing and now his sheets. I didn't know... that being a Dauntless leader gets you all the power, status but it also gives wealth. Is that why Drew or Peter stuck the knife in Edward's eye? To be first?

He gives me another stern-ish look and I finally drink.

Oh... it feels so good.

The water quenches my thirst and I am grateful for the cool liquid as it slides down my stinging throat. He crosses his arms and watches me drain the cup. My tongue isn't cracked so I can speak without a rasp.

"What?" he snaps.

I look away and down. "You're staring."

"Aren't you?"

"No! It's just..." I pause. "You know, you're not supposed to give people who throw up water. Crackers would be nice to soak up the fluid in the stomach," I say, remembering what my friends told me what to do after a hangover.

"Do I look like a medic?" he scoffs.

"No. You're a Dauntless leader," I say, my tone sharp because his tone was sharp.

He closes his eyes, like the sight of me damages him. "Then how was I supposed to know that?" he snaps.

"I dunno, read a book," I shrug. "Eric, you drink- all the time, there are empty bottles everywhere."

He opens his eyes and them dark all over my face. "Maybe you drink way too much," Eric accuses.

I drop my jaw. Did he just call me an alcoholic?! Before I can retort, he literally continues, with a death glare at me.

"And I hate crackers. No, I don't have them in the house," he scoffs.

"Why?" I challenge. His shoulders tense and I wonder if I struck a nerve.

If I did- good.

Usually, his responses come back like bullets- at me. He took his time to answer, a slow grimace working onto his already displeased face.

"Stick to your own business, Rookie," he replies bluntly.

"About our escapade, did you get more and more drunk? Were you hungover?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, a small chuckle escaping his mouth. "Haven't gotten hungover in a long time," he says and there's a little happiness, a forbidden secret he hasn't told me.

I just don't answer, seeing as my response would probably start a fight or something akin to it. After he gets tired of just standing there, scrutinizing me, he shifts in place. I trace the rim of the glace and he winces at the sounds that play, ring out.

My eyes flit back to his.

He doesn't even stop watching me. He's... bigger than me in a way. We're in his apartment thing, he's obviously a Dauntless leader and his gaze so heavy on my face, my chest, my soul. It's strange that I'm on his bed, playing with an empty cup while we argue.

This... I never thought I would be here. At all.

He shifts from foot to foot and the glass clicks and makes unpleasant sounds. I cringe.

He says, "That's disgusting."

He sounded disgusted.

I smile like he's told me a joke. "It makes music," I say, genuinely happy.

He just seems a little less uneased when I smile at my cup. "You're the weirdest initiate I've ever talked to," he tilts his head.

"Doesn't that make me interesting and glad you're talking to me?" I ask, laughing.

He just offers a small half smile. "How you feeling?" he says after watching me carefully.

"Like I saw a man get stabbed in the eye," I say, introspective and hurt. Even thinking about it hurts.

"That's not a mood but... I get where you're coming from."

I nod and reach for the granola bar that sits on the table. It's the meal I haven't had. With lightning speed, I unwrap the plastic and toss it away, not caring where it lands.

The moment the food hits my tongue, I'm in heaven! The water was delicious. I cherish the way the oats and nuts slide down my throat. It's bliss. I couldn't... eat anything without throwing up.

Jesus. It tastes so good. I can't stop stuffing my mouth.

I get half-way through chewing the snack that tastes like a gourmet meal until Eric's non-covert staring gets to me.

"What?" I ask, swallowing the dry grains that kinda shred my throat if I don't chew enough.

He folds his arms, quite amused. "That's mine but you can have it? I guess," he says, shrugging.

I dart my eyes away. "If you have more, give me all of 'em."

"Seriously? Demanding, much?" Eric grumbles. He still moves, probably in search of the pack.

He goes to his kitchenette that's painted- you guessed it- black. The cupboards don't have handles and nothing is on the dark granite countertops. It seems all pretty modern- and now that I realize, neat.

The kitchen at least. Everything else is kinda dirty. There are clothes strewn about, pictures on the wall that weren't put up straight- and what?

Bras? Women's clothing?

Neon. Pink. Purple. Girls are so... why did they leave it?! There are multiple bras. From other women. Something in me gets tight, like a belt around my middle that's too tight. It's crushing the soft spot under my ribs. I don't want to acknowledge that so I look away.

"Ah, got a pack," he calls out to me. He shakes something in a blue painted container.

"Cool," I say. "Bring 'em over."

"I'm not your maid," he says but does as I say.

I still warily look at the studio-looking room. It's huge! There's a TV, a bookshelf, and a pool table. It's like... a place my dad would want if my mother didn't effeminate him.

But my eyes stray back to the bras. They look... pretty big. Were their breasts huge? Mine- aren't that huge? They're a good... decent size. I mean...  My c-cup isn't big? I bite my lip, suddenly self-conscious.

How many women have slept... on this bed? With him? It makes me feel hot- like I'm getting burned. I was so impressed. Is that why he has such nice sheets, to impress those he sleeps with?

Ugh!

He comes back huffing and scoffing but returning with a box. "When was the last time you ate?" he says, noticing me noticing the decor.

He tosses me the box. I can't even catch it, my reflexes aren't even fast enough. It bounces out of reach, hiding behind some valleys of the blanket. I sigh and ruffle through the endless mounds of blanket, pawing the fabric to find it.

"Nice catch," he says sarcastically.

"Awesome throw," I shoot back, just as mocking.

I break the blue cardboard box and get to my prizes. Yay! They gleam in the white light of Eric's huge apartment.

"Just answer the question," he says roughly.

Oh. Have I eaten? Is that what he asked? I make him wait for my response as I eat and consume.

"Why? Worried 'bout me?" I finally tease, unwrapping my fourth granola bar.

The taste has lost its zest, seeing as I am not desperate anymore. I still want to fill my stomach so I continue eating.

He glares. "Nope. I don't want Rookie to look like roadkill on the concrete. If I didn't know better, I'd think it's my fault, 'cause we went drinking and stuff," he says, wiping his nose with his index finger.

There's nothing on his nose. It's so weird for him to have a quiet voice. I take it all in like a sponge waiting for a bath.

"I ate... sometime yesterday. I don't remember," I say in between bites.

"Why not? Do you know how bad it is to drink on an empty stomach?"

"Thanks for telling me,  _Dad_ ," I say forlornly.

I let the near empty box fall to my side, feeling the bile rising again. I force myself to keep it down. Don't vomit! Not all over his satiny sheets.

"I can't eat... it's too gross. Nauseating," I reveal honestly, still chewing on my bar- to finish it. My last bar. I swear.

I can't even look at him. I thought he would have congratulated Drew or Peter by now for... attacking another initiate but he doesn't. He isn't. He probably won't. He has some semblance of decency and... morality. When I meet his gaze, he seems disgruntled by the entire situation, his muscles taught. I can see it in the way he tenses up.

"Do you have a disorder or something?" he queries, his mouth pursing into a thin line.

"I love food..." I shake my head sullenly. "Did you notice how much of our Dauntless food oozes  _red_?"

"No. They don't, you're just crazy," he dismisses me.

"I'm not crazy! They do! And I saw the knife handle... In Edward's eye! Sticking out. At full mast?" I say, getting wheezy.

This is all dismal and sullen. I swallow.

I suddenly look up at him, pleading under his sharp gaze. "Tell me you'll do something,"

He notices how tender my voice sounds and stands up taller. "It's work stuff. I can't release that information to anyone, much less a rookie with a grain addiction," he tells me while turning away his chin. His eyes become cold and darkness looms all around him.

"It's not an addiction! I just can't eat... meat," I defend myself, protesting loudly.

"I still can't tell you, no matter how much you holler and yell," he snaps.

I am not even fazed. "Come on. I'll be here every night, just waiting for an answer if you don't tell me now! It could happen again and it could be my eye if I step in the wrong spot," I say.

He and I stare at each other for a few moments, not wanting to give in. I want my answers! Someone has to be punished. They have to be or else what is justice? What is the truth? What is Dauntless?

"We're conducting an investigation," he says, growling a bit.

"You know who did it! It was-"

Peter and Drew.

I stop because I was on top of the guy when he revealed... the truth? Maybe it wasn't even... the truth. I have no idea. I look at the blanket and notice my fists clenching handfuls.

"I... I don't know who actually did it," I say, looking away. "You're not the enemy but someone is emerging from the shadows as one, looking for blood."

"That's why we're conducting an investigation. Everyone needs to be questioned because there is no real person to punish," he retorts.

"So you're not doing anything?" I hiss. "Edward can't probably see and it's alright for everyone? For him to be blind?!"

"I'm trying to. You can't accuse me of that when I'm trying to fix things-nevermind," he says, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground. He would usually be glaring at me- so that's... good?

"You know, in your heart, who's capable of such a gory act," I say. He's been watching us- our aggression, our tendencies and our fighting styles for three weeks. He should know.

"We don't know anything," Eric states in a way that plunges me into a deep melancholy. "We don't know everyone or everything,"

With that answer, he turns around and I ask, "Where are you going?"

"Out. To do work," he says, his voice a devoid of emotion. "Clean up the crumbs and leave,"

His steps echoed in the suddenly cold room. The door shuts with a slam. I throw a granola bar at the door. He's useless!

* * *

 

I stay.

I try to get out of bed and I discover that the source of my throbbing pain is my freakin' knee. I must have fallen on it.

I must have fallen on it or it took all of the weight. My pain threshold has been greatly improved and expanded over the last few weeks so imagine my surprise when the nerves screeched when I moved.

Also, I want an accurate answer. He's a leader.

I am awkwardly trying to maneuver myself out of bed. The millions of throw pillows are thrown at the door. Thick blankets are pulled back and I am just trying to move without actually making my injury worse.

I curse and before I can grab a pillow to tear it up a smirking, happy Eric is there! It infuriates me.

He just grins a bit, coming around to look at me. He makes his way over, slowly, slowly, as if the place should disappear from his sight. Since the bed is near the back of his messy apartment, it takes a while for him to get to me.

He's passing the kitchen to his left, then the dining table passes a bunch of plants- which I noticed. The handful of green in the black- is quite nice. He looks at his furniture and is happy. It annoys me. He kicked me out and told me to clean up the crumbs! Rude! I just wanted something done.

"What? Why are you so happy?" I ask. He ignores me and I get a throw pillow and shoot it at him.

He catches the pillow and squeezes it twice, eyeing me with an incredulous expression. "Pillows? Why throw pillows? They literally cannot hurt anyone or me. I'm invincible."

"It's two point five pounds of softness but I would have found a way," I grit out while I throw another one.

He dodges it and tossing the pillow back onto the bed- not at me, not even for revenge, just to put it in place. I get annoyed at his one-note, grating hum that he does. It's annoying.

"Violent, violent woman," he shakes his head with a scowl in his tone.

"Why were you so cheeky?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I expected you to trash my apartment, so yes, violent, violent woman I'm cheeky. I found it fine but one thing's amiss; you! Why aren't you gone? Why don't you ever listen, follow rules or be decent?" he hisses, biting out at me.

"I'm decent! If I wanted to be nice to you, you get what you give!"

His mouth falls open and his eyes narrow into slits. "I am nice! I let you sleep there for seven hours so you wouldn't die later on today. You're overstaying your welcome," he tells me in an irritated tone.

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I'm going," I tell him, not yelling.

"Really?" he asks, in a marginally lower voice.

I nod. "My body hurts and you don't tell me what the hell to do," I groan, moving but letting out a little sigh, ignoring the horrid throbbing- everywhere. "I'm trying... to get out."

I move too suddenly and my body protests. "Damn, ow," I try to hide it but he sees.

"You're in pain," he realizes, aloud. An epiphany.

"Yes. I fell, got clocked out of the way by Molly and janked up my knee," I admit through gritted teeth.

I waited for his tsk or insult about how Dauntless get cuts and bruises, suck it up. It never came.

Looking moderately concerned, Eric moves forward, probably to aid me.

I bare my teeth. "Don't even try to help me. Don't think about it!"

He waits for a moment beside his dinner table and makes an unimpressed noise. He drags a chair from the table and pulls a chair across from me.

"Fine," he says, not hiding his contempt.

I'm not pitiful. He couldn't do anything to placate me, either way. I'm slightly more elevated on the bed and I look- glare down at him. I stop moving. He also glares at me.

"Hurry. You were supposed to disappear. I've been gone for half an hour," he announces after checking his watch.

He has one of his own. Again, I feel a bit bad for not wearing the watch. We could have been matching. Which didn't matter at all?

"Well, I didn't know that."

"Where's the watch I gave you?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"I don't need a watch or anything you give me," I hiss.

"You need the time."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah but there are perfectly accessible, perfectly stationary... clocks..." I falter off, my eyes searching his walls for a clock... a timepiece.

My sentence ends when I notice that there were no alarm clocks, no analog clocks or anything. Nothing! My eyes flit around the semi-clean place and land on Eric's smug expression just oozing arrogance.

"Why don't you have any clocks?!"

"Because I have wrist-watches," he says, holding up his watch.

I actually laugh. "That answer... makes sense."

"When do I not make sense?" he asks as he lowers his hands.

"You make sense but you're irritating as hell," I insist.

"That's a roundabout way of telling me I'm eloquent and awesome," he says.

He's terribly vain and conceited but okay.  It makes me laugh again, and I hate that.

"I have three watches. Just wear yours," he orders.

I nod but narrow my eyes. "Why do you have two to three watches? That's strange," I ask, collapsing back onto his covers. The ceiling is cool.

He leans back into his chair. He sounds and looks bitter. "I didn't buy 'em. I hate those stores in downtown with all the watches and jewelry stores."

My look urges him to continue.

Eric takes a few moments to steady his quick breaths. "It sounds like a bomb. Dauntless trained me well enough to be paranoid when one's around."

"We all fears... that's for sure... If you feared it... why'd you give it to me?"

"Time is slowed down on that one," Is all Eric says.

So it's super faulty and he gave it to me as a gift? I keep my expression neutral but I know I am quite disappointed. Is it broken? That's why I have it?

"You okay?" His piercing shines as he observes me silently.

I ignore his question and hope he doesn't notice my crestfallen aura. He shifts. I can't stop focusing on the jewelry on the corner of his lip and his eye. The piercing on his brow- two, calls out to me.

He just raises a brow but doesn't open his mouth.

"Are your piercings pure silver?" I wonder aloud.

He nods. "One hundred percent."

No wonder they look so special and... shiny in the light. "Why do so many?" I ask.

Suddenly, his relaxed disposition completely vanishes and he sits up straighter like someone put a rod in his ass. "Why do you ask so many questions?" he demands.

I jump at his defensive tone.

I get quiet and kind of try to avoid his question by carding my fingers through the plentiful folds of the sheets. It feels so wonderful under my hand. I just want to know more about... him. Is that a crime?

"It's weird to not know anything about you but snooze in your bed for seven and a half hours," I say.

"I guess so," he says. He then squints and looks directly at me. "Ashely Parks and Earle Spokes aren't graduating with you to the second stage of initiation."

He changed the subject but I'll take this subject too. "Who are they? Dauntless-born?" I ask.

He nods and the mood of the conversation takes a turn for the worst. "Your fellow initiates Edward and Myra are leaving Dauntless as well..." he says, watching me intently, watching me for any outbursts or emotion.

I sit up quickly, my ears perking up with the unexpected news. "No!" I gasp, looking heartbroken. I probably sound heartbroken.

I wince when pain races on the track of my whole body.

"Easy," he says.

I sink back down. I punch the mattress, feeling the springs under my knuckle bones. My eyes feel hot, with shame or something else. I don't know. It just makes me feel bad. Edward really had a future in Dauntless.

Just because some idiot plunged a knife into his eye? He has to be... better. What will he even do? I release a frustrated sigh that Eric sympathizes with. Damn it.

"They quit," he says.

"Where is he going?" I say through gritted teeth.

"His former faction will not take him back, Erudite and... Dauntless has refused to bend rules. His... significant other- Myra does not want to continue without him."

I just turn over on the bed. "It isn't fair," I say, like a child after getting punished.

"Come on, why are you mad at me?" he asks.

"I'm not," I protest, albeit angrily.

He snorts. "Like I would believe that."

I turn over, my body rolling and hurting with the effort, to face him. I prop my head up on my elbow and sigh.

"I really am not! I'm... I'm just..."

I stop talking because my mouth doesn't keep up with my thoughts. I can't even think straight or talk correctly.

He tilts his head to the left. "Then what's got you all pent up?"

"I'm mad at Dauntless. This whole stupid system! Eric, you can do something and he might lose an eye and she wasn't going to make it anyway but Edward could have done some bright things. Now he's all factionless and we're here, just sitting here while he has no future."

He sits in silence until I hear him standing.

He comes around the bed and slides his arms under my legs and another one under my arms. I gasp a bit at the dull pain that seems to fade into the background- because... because he's touching me.

Once again, it sends sparks of electricity to my heart and throughout the second layer of skin.

He looks professional though his tattooed biceps feel so strong and solid. His denim jeans look good on him and his hair is slicked back, not long and greasy. I'd rather card my fingers through his hair rather than be alone on the mattress and caress the satiny- coverings.

He can't notice the dreamy look in my eye so I hide, sighing into his chest. He smells even better than the sheets. Like ozone and... good shampoo. Distinctly earthy. Masculine.

Can I just stay in his arms forever? It's nice to be surrounded by warmth. His presence is big but it makes me feel safe- which is strange and dumb. I kind of hate thinking about him all the time, with his shirt on, shirt off when I was just addicted to moaning under Peter.

I can't think of Peter. Not when I can be focusing on Eric.

"I'm surprised you're not fighting me," he whispers honestly.

He's helping me. Sorta. "Where are you taking me?"

"To a chair, so I can look at your knee," he tells me almost immediately. He knew I would probably start hollering if he didn't tell the truth.

"I thought you weren't a medic," I tease.

"Don't make me drop you," he threatens.

I can't tell if he's serious or joking.

I curl up tighter into his embrace and shake my head into his chest, scrunching up my hands in his shirt.

"Don't do that. Please," I beg, wound up like a wire.

"Relax," he coaxes gently. "I was just joking."

I don't let go. I'm holding onto him with a ferocity I didn't know I had.

"You confuse me." I whisper.

"Ah. That's good."

Weirdo.

I just sigh and he sets me down on a chair and I lean back hissing. He sits on the ground, cross-legged and me, still elevated, looking down at him.

He has to push up the downy fabric that bunches up at my ankle because my sweatpant legs are blocking his view of my knee.

He takes his time and I close my eyes, hoping the pain can go away, so I'm willing him to act quickly.

He doesn't, he's all sensual -maybe I'm exaggerating- like I'm one of those girls who visited at night and left their bras, as a mark of their territory. He's making them like believe he's theirs.

I never... actually considered if he had a girlfriend. Or someone who he fucks regularly.

It feels so sexual, for some reason as his fingers settle on the crooks of my foot and his deft fingers gliding up and down my ankle and to the skin on my knee. I think it was unnecessary to trace the scars that blemish my body.

But it's over just as quickly. He studies my knee. I can't even breathe. He wraps it up. He's super concentrated on this.

I can't fall hard into his charm, I tell myself as he rolls down the ends of my sweatpants. They're too big for me but whatever.

"You can't hate the faction you were invited to," he tells me.

He sounds gentle. Kind.

It's so unlike his usual voice. He's always angry, angry and appalled. I'm not a person full of peace and he's not full of light, either. Maybe that's why we always clash. I always make him mad, so I can't say anything.

He's not passive like Will, so it's easy to anger him. He's not a walk in the park, either.

Despite that, he's telling me a message as he toys with my ankle. I'm glad I moisturize every day and paint my nails and trim them! He's looking at me so much, it's insane.

"I don't hate this faction," I protest.

He looks up, shocked at my confession. "What?"

"Yeah," I say, shrugging.

Now I'm uncomfortable. He's always staring at me, so intense.

"Really?"

"It's... it's just that it's not what I imagined it to be in the past. We beat each other until we're unconscious, we stab each other in the eye and..." I pause, remembering who I am talking to.

He literally has the capability of deciding my future in this faction and I'm just crapping all over it.

The fear makes me cold.

I sit up, clamping up. "I shouldn't ha- sorry. I should- I should go," I say, trying to get out of the chair.

I get like two steps until I kind of buckle onto the clothing-covered ground. I turn around and give a weak smile to Eric.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," I say, covering my mouth.

I cross my arms as he sets me back on the chair.

"Talk." he orders.

"But... it's your faction, what you'll take over in a couple of years after Max... you know, dies or like hands it to your capable hands," I say quietly.

"It wouldn't be a faction if we can't criticize it," he tells me. His sincere, warm-ish eyes urging me to talk. "Speak candidly, Candor. Talk freely, it's just better."

"I feel like we're so far from what we're used to. None of the people in my Capture The Flag team wanted to work together and isn't that what Dauntless is? We're just getting fear-mongered and..." I bite my lip. "You're pushing us too hard."

He just tenses up, looks away, and repeats;  "Too hard?"

It's hard to even hear his voice or look at his face. I'm afraid of what he'll say, so I keep quiet.

"Rookie," he warns, pressing me for an answer.

"Yeah. I mean... yeah," I say, without raising my voice higher than a whisper.

"All of you or just you?" he interrogates me and all of the blood in my ears become louder and louder.

I think for a moment. "Probably just all of us," I say quietly.

"Only the strongest get in," he grunts. "We choose you? Remember,"

I try hard to avoid his gaze. "You haven't chosen me yet," I squeak.

"Look at me," he orders.

When I don't, he patiently waits. I turn towards him after a while of contemplating the disaster that could happen.

"Haven't I, already?" he finished.

I guess he has. In a way. I don't know what way but he did.

"That's not the worst thing in the world." I laugh. "It's pretty nice."

"You can be nice?" Eric grimaces.

I want to throw something at him. "I like  _nice_  things, I've never said I was nice. You're incapable of being nice, as well." I point my finger to him.

"I take credit for that." he shrugs.

"When you can redeem yourself, why not take the chance?" I groan.

He rolls his metallic eyes. "Why not take the chance to be nice? Say something nice to me."

I think for a moment before laughing to myself. "You make me want to not throw a building at you after 7 p.m." I wink, smiling brilliantly.

He frowns. "That's not a fucking compliment." he points out, hanging his head.

I reach out to his hair, putting my hands through his black locks. "Take all my  _niceness_. Take it all."

He swats my hands away and pulls a chair. "Don't do that again."

"I probably will, just warning you." I wink again.

He glares at me.

I look around for a little. "While I am not being nice, let me say you need a maid and some way to make everything smell like flowers-"

"Don't lecture me, we're not in Erudite. If we were in Erudite, I'd probably be signing your calculator by now, not that you know how to use one."

I kick his shin. "I know how to use one!"

He looks at his shin then at me. "You sure about that? The instructions are self-explanatory and the numbers go up pretty high."

"Ten isn't a high number." I hiss.

He shakes his head, laughing. "The highest number  _-button wise-_  is nine."

I smack his knee. "I'd rather have you shut up and sign my calculator instead of suffering through this Erudite superiority-complex that you have."

"Candor just talk and argue and talk all day. You are just a walking stereotype. You're and you want the last word."

"What good is an argument if you don't have the last word?"

"As an Amity would say, let peace and quiet be," he says loudly. "Don't you understand  _silence_?"

"No... I don't want to, either." I open my mouth then shake my head. "What good is silence when it's boring and you do nothing? If you don't talk, you don't understand. I believe a story, a conversation is the shortest distance between two people." I say but I accidentally poke his foot.

Eric stays quiet and looks at me for a while.

"What?" I say, super self-conscious.

He yawns, open-mouthed, eyes squinted and muscles tensed. "You talk with your hands when you're passionate. That's oddly endearing."

I drop my jaw. Did... he just compliment me? Oh, my face feels so warm and my body is light. I am lightheaded. He... just called me... endearing.

How do I play it cool? How do I not act like I'm on a drug?

I just cough a couple of times. "Get with the program, I'm an endearing person." I sit up, curling my toes.

He narrows his eyes, dodgy with his stare. "That's not what I said."

"Let me have a compliment!" I groan.

Is that too much to ask for?! Seriously. Let me feel good for like a second or something.

"I'm Eric from Dauntless, not a pansy from Amity."

"Hardy, har, har. I think I'm still perfectly endearing." I stick out my tongue. "Accept it."

"Not really. Ninety-nine percent of what you say is... relatively garbage but sometimes... you can be really thoughtful, with that... other, er term."

If Eric tried harder that could have been one hundred percent an insult. I open my mouth then my face feels tight. My leather lips feel rubbery but they slowly morph into this small, almost non-existent smile.

I like being thoughtful and endearing. It's just but a sliver in the world of worlds. A fraction but they mean a lot. All those other colorful insults seem neutralized.

"What are you cheeky about?" he asks sharply.

"Nothing!" I snap. "It's nothing..." And everything. Oh my god...

I stare at him, and it's really blurry- almost colorless then clear then dark and all pretty. I know what I feel but I can't put it into words, so I just stare. He looks different. He's so mean, awful and terrible but I'm weirdly infatuated with the reason he looks different.

But, before I could figure it out and fall even deeper, I look away.

"Let that be nothing..." he coughs and looks away. "About the shorter distance, a perfectly timed word... can be the shortest distance between two people as well."

I lean in closer. "Don't you just love it when people lose to you? After you say a good, long word and you ruin their day?"

He gets amused. "You sound like a sadist. An author who is a sadist."

I frown, a pout with that expression. "You get hard for calculators, shut up. I'm not the one with weird tastes."

"You have the weirdest imagination. That said, I smashed my calculator on the choosing day."

"Spoken like a true Dauntless who would paint the sky black if they had the choice." I nod. I picture it. "That would be terrifying. All the skies... The stars would be all over, like freckles, isn't that pretty?"

"Eh." he shrugs.

"I'd paint the sky black with all the paint I could find!"

"Pfft." he rolls his eyes. "Get real."

"I'm serious and super real!" I insist.

He finally seems less than amused. I could hear him short circuit. He's a real robot. It's proven.

"Don't be. The amount of money, resources, and water- you would cause a natural disaster- actually, you would cause several natural disasters!"

I clap my hands together. "Turn your Erudite brain off and think of it through literature- it would be beautiful!" I say loudly.

"Oooh, death, so wondrous and beautiful," he says sarcastically.

"Shut up, you don't know my limits, you aren't a believer," I say angrily.

"In what? Believe in death and the whole world going bankrupt?" he demands.

"I'll do it. Hypothetically. Theoretically, I can beat you in this and have paintbrushes the size of buildings."

"Instead of that, just drink lemonade and wait for nighttime and the stars, be rational." he rolls his eyes.

I let those words come together and I pause.

That's... actually super accurate and... doable. Sometimes, I think I'm crazy but it's whatever.

"I could do that or I could paint the sky black," I say, with less conviction and... volume as before.

"You would paint the whole sky black just for me, to prove me wrong?"

"Would you paint the whole sky black for me?" I ask.

"Just to do the impossible," he takes a moment to look at me. "Leave all the calculations to me."

"With that broken calculator? I trust that so much," I laugh.

"I live for the sarcasm Candor puts out there." he chirps.

"Really?"

"No," he deadpans, looking at the corner of his room. "That calculator was expensive. My mother got so mad she made me put it back together but you could trust anything I fix up."

Really? He's so full of himself. I'm surprised the ceiling hasn't popped off with all this ego here. I laugh again, feeling warm and good.

"You were one of those guys? A geek? I used to, like, make fun of guys like you in school..." I say, swallowing another chuckle. I was a bully... That's sucky. I wonder if he was going to find out.

"Like? You need a dictionary... with new words." Eric sighs.

My best friend was a dictionary during the spelling-bee season. During September, December and April, Candor would have elaborate spelling bee competitions. Candor always won, it was the pride and valor of my people. I never won but my mother always got me a pie. It was so good.

A good reason to join Candor, you fall in love with words and you are your own personal etymologist. It's insane.

I pop an eyebrow up at him. "Come to think of it, you probably memorized the dictionary. What was your favorite word?"

"What was yours?" he asks.

I shrug. "I had three words; supine, oblivion and phosphenes."

He looks at the ceiling. "Those aren't bad. Nostalgic and juvenile but... not bad. I thought you'd say something like a bumblebee."

"Don't think so lowly of me! More... importantly, you know what they mean?"

He nods. "Let's do the first word... one day, alright?"

I widen my eyes then swallow loudly. That's a lot of nothing, a lot of nothing.

Supine means to be reclined. He wants to lie down with me one day!

He'll be there, with me and the black sky? Can we add vintage flowers? Under that paint and all the stars. That seems wonderful.

That's... variety... I smile a bit. "Yours?"

"Probably... Hiraeth."

I sit up a little taller. That's a sad word for a sad man.

"Eric-"

"Special word in effect now."

I shut up but then we're left in this odd silence I can't take. I scowl petulantly at his face.

"You didn't have to be dramatic and carry me," I say and cross my arms, trying to sound annoyed.

"You seemed pretty cozy in my embrace, Rookie," he smirks.

My jaw drops. "C-cozy? You're impossible! I swear to God- that's not what happened! I was fighting my way out!" I say, stuttering.

"Candor girls always talk more when they're flustered," he notes, absently. "Are you nervous around me, Rookie?" his voice is so smug and cheeky, I hate it.

"N-no! You asshole!"

He just laughs when I reach out to kick him. I'm a lot nervous.

"Why did you take away my shoes?" I ask. "That's just not right!"

"Did your mother not raise you right? No shoes on the bed," he scolds, shaking his head.

I just scowl harder. "That's partially why I left the glass on the floor and why I  didn't sweep it up..."

"I always seem to be cleaning up your messes," he says, humming and getting up to do whatever.

"Sorry... I'm such a nuisance," I grumble then I roll my eyes.

I didn't realize how much I was inconveniencing him at the moment. He really didn't have to do any of this. I could have just woken up, shivering, miserable in the medical room. It smells faintly of cinnamon, which I can't get enough of.

He turns around from opening his fridge and sends me a confused look. "That's not what I said," he hums smoothly.

I widen my eyes. So... I'm not the bane of his existence?

"Or meant," he adds lamely, still looking at me.

I slide my fingernail against my palm, smiling. "You know, the air and space around you is not so horrible when you're nice." I look up, digging my nails into my palms.

"Nice? You calling me Amity?" he grumbles.

"Calm down," I roll my eyes. "My father's from Amity and my mother hated him when he was an honest Amity folk."

He swallows, his eyes wandering away from my face. "They still got married though, right?"

I suddenly feel odd.

"Things work out weirdly." I cough.

We're stuck looking at each other, holding the eye-contact. That's really odd.

Silence prevails. I can't look at him.

"Have you ever watched the movie Jacktown?" he asks suddenly.

His next suggestions please me to the point of me wanting to stay in this cave forever.

"No," I say. "Why?"

His eyes shine with a new happiness I've never seen before.

"You haven't lived right if you haven't seen Jacktown," he insists.

I narrow my eyes as I see him getting packs of popcorn.

And the rest of our afternoon was decided. Just like that. Cooped up in his stupid apartment. I couldn't help but fall asleep, maybe, maybe not on his shoulder.

When I woke, though, I kept awake.

He spoiled a lot of the jokes and parts of the movie. I wanted to sleep, to save me from boredom but his leg was against mine the entire movie.

So it was hard. I didn't manage.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	9. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn't edited but like a reader wanted a chapter and I had this in reserve. Shrugg. I'll fix it later.

 

  
**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

 

-CHAPTER 9-  
Justice

* * *

Eric, for the first time, was enthusiastic. While watching, he kept on pointing out camera shots, visuals, and symbols he's noticed over the hundreds of times he saw Jacktown. I do understand why he likes it.

It's crude, offensive but funny. It has meaning. It may seem like propaganda from Erudite but... I don't say anything.

Jacktown does have some meaning. It's about a man named Jack Erudite who gets forced into Amity and mocks their ways and lifestyle. I did remember Candor and Erudite getting together to make the film and the ruckus it caused. The tension between the factions almost caused the two factions to starve since the Amity refused to send food to them.

I was probably ignorant to enjoy it but I liked sitting beside Eric. His happiness is near infectious. And it doesn't hurt to actually see his smile. Not his smirk, not his grin but a real smile, instead of that snarl he hands us. He really has two heads. He looks unrecognizable with the brightness in his face.

Kind of like the moon, with piercings and bras left behind from his (hopefully) one-night stands.

After the end, he watches me as I yawn. "What?" I say after he trains his gaze on my face for way too long.

He just rolls his eyes. "What'd you think?"

I look at him and the huge TV screen. "It was... good,"

His eyes widen before he looks at me like I'm a ghost and he expected something more.

"It... was just good?" he damandes. "How is it just good? Your brain is limited to the strange ideas of thinking that this isn't funny? Why?"

I shrug. "It was really funny, especially when the man fell into the garden and it kind of ruined the Amity spirit but it was funny, with how Jack dealt with it,"

He scoffs. "Better,"

I narrow my eyes. "I was _sleepy_ , I didn't notice much." I say. "Forgive me,"

"If you don't like this, you have less culture than a petri dish," he says with an outlandish tone.

I shake my head. "That's a very Erudite thing of you to say and it's insulting which is a very Eric thing to say," I snarl.

We glare at each other for a few moments, neither looking away or backing down.

In the midst of our starinf contest, he just smirks and tilts his chin up. "There's a second one, want to watch that?" he asks.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Get _buttered_ popcorn this time. Salt is too dull and plain,"

"Reminds me a someone I know," he mutters under his breath.

I'll show him. "Actually! Raincheck. I might but my friends might get curious of where I am," I say before he can protest. Would he? I'm bothersome... at times.

He looks puzzled. "You mean Al and Will?" he questions.

I nod.

"Will is your boyfriend, right?" he flexes his eyebrow upwards.

I laugh, shaking my head. "No," I chuckle some more. "Never in a million years."

He seems a bit placated and his tense muscels release.

"Why?" I query, a teasing smile on my lips. My heart jumps around though I can't really focus.

He looks annoyed but doesn't answer my question. "Why doesn't your friend, the big guy, _Al_ not try?"

I suddenly feel tired and worn out. Even the question makes me nervous for Al. Sometimes, I forget he's a Dauntless leader and not my semi-attractive tormentor. If Eric notices my friends, it's not the good type of attention. Not at all. It would be better if Eric didn't notice me or my friends.

This is the first time he ever brought up my friends and I know Al might not survive. His ranking wasn't very high.

Maybe he only talks to me because... he wants information. I never considered that part. I thought he wanted to get to know me better, not collect data on how my fellow initiates are failing. It makes me want to punch him in the face and feel dumb for allowing myself to care.

So what if he doesn't want to know me better?

But I can't lie and just sit here, gaping at him like an idiot. "Uh," I say, dumbly.

He narrows his eyes, "What's going on with him?"

"Al... just has a hard time deciding between why self-defense isn't hurting anyone. He doesn't want to hurt anyone,"

"Tell him to step up, if you want to keep him here as a friend," he tells me. His gaze is steely and his tone is warning. I know he isn't playing.

I fidget under his stare and nod. It's silent and I keep on looking at him.

"Welp. Do you want to finish up the trilogy? There are three movies," he informs me. Without waiting for my response, he rolls off of the bed to get more popcorn.

I watch the movie all the while wondering why I am on the bed, listening to his laughter though it's quickly becoming my favorite sound in the entire world.

* * *

 

Later on, hobbling and kind of tired, I return to the dorm. I'm in the middle of a search for the watch. I shouldn't wear it... I should... gaze at it.

He couldn't even tell me why he gave it to me. He only has three. He wears the gold one, he gave me the silver one and he does something with the last one. It's faulty. I'm faulty. Sort of.

I'm relieved that Peter isn't anywhere. How can I get through Dauntless life with him just around the corner, bragging about my lips and his lips against his? I shouldn't have done it. I haven't even allowed myself to think about my mother's kindness toward Peter and her words about my childhood escapade.

Eric... was right. Myra and Edward are gone.

I twist around- it's empty except for the form right in front of the blackboard. Al is on the bed, big and exhausted. There are dark circles around his eyes and he stares at the blackboard that has all of our names.

I look at the list.

_1\. Peter_

_2\. Will_

_3\. Christina_

Oh. I'm third. Maybe I would get an apartment just as big as Eric's. I want a bed and a TV, maybe a huge silver fridge. Will Eric visit me? Will I have to carry my keys everywhere? Why do I think it's so strange to think of me and Eric... together in like five years? What plans do I have?

I want to change... things. I want... to change Dauntless. I should change things.

And Al... what is Al doing? His eyes are just fish eyes... Al...

"Al?" I say softly, hoping to get him out of this trans.

He doesn't say anything. His adam's apple bobs and he swallows. He moves his head and his stiff neck makes a popping sound. I cringe. How long has he been still, head tilted up at the blackboard? He just clenches his white fingers, white knuckles while shaking his head. He holds the edge of the bed like it's anchoring him to earth.

"I hate the number seven," he says, his voice a low rumble in the otherwise silent room.

Things feel more ominous and I know he's been brooding for the past few hours. Can't he just be normal and less creepy and avoid the hell out of this place?

Seven?

My eyes follow the list of the Dauntless transfer members. Oh. I feel awkward, having to hunt for his name but I finally see it.

_4\. Molly_

_5\. Tris_

_6\. Drew_

_7._ _Al_

Seven. That's not... bad. It's not the best but he's still here.

Oh. Shit. There used to be nine of us transfers. I guess things don't... turn out right. There are lines through Myra's and Edward's names and changed the rest of the numbers beside our names.

"Well," I say awkwardly, trying to find something to follow up the words. I can't.

I'm not sure how to approach him with any comfort. Will I come off as annoying?

I go in front of him, blocking the view of his placement. He needs to stop looking at the board.

He seems annoyed by my action but doesn't move, he simply grunts. "Move,"

Fine. So I do move.

I move beside him. Our thighs touch but it doesn't make my mind go into overdrive. I see him as a brother. Someone close to that, something that I have to guide and push around. Will just argues too much and Tris isn't funny like Al is.

I do want him to feel better, not so... stormy, conflicted and sad. He's just frowning all the time. It affects my mood for the worse. He's seventh place. He should have drunk with me. Maybe I wouldn't be in this mess with both Eric and Peter.

"You're not in a bad place anymore," I say, sitting beside him.

"Don't lie," he groans.

"If I did... _could_ lie... I wouldn't lie to you," I tell him. "Honest,"

He grumbles an intelligible response.

I nudge him. "Talk before I wring it outta you,"

He sends me a forlorn look. "I'm in the seventh place," he says, dramatically. He confesses it like it's the worst thing in the world.

"Tris was just a spot under you," I point out. "You should be proud,"

If possible he looks even more depressed like he wants to sink into the ground. And now he's frustrated. "You didn't let me finish! By default. I'm there by default," he yelps like a wounded dog.

I roll my eyes. "If you're here, all _complaints_ and frowns, you should notice at least you're here. You're still in the game, alright? The big four are still in the game," I say.

"I got taken off the bench because there are no more players," he says, burying his face in his hands with a distressed moan.

"Relax, Albert. You're on my team. I'll help you win, score the net-points," I curl my arm around his arm, smiling a bit. "I'm glad you made it. I was scared,"

"Me too," he says honestly. He doesn't look up. He's foolish if he believes that still keeps me from trying to make him grin.

"Tris is still here too," I point out in a sing-song voice. This elicits a smile and a chuckle from the otherwise dour-looking man.

"That's a plus," he says.

I shrug. "We were a bunch of Candor loud-mouths and now we're basically Dauntless, punching out people left and right. I'm proud of you,"

He seems truly uplifted by my words. Later on, that inspired man looks wistful and longing. He rests his pointy elbows on his tree-trunk thighs then sighs. It isn't even sad. I know it's his I'm-thinking-about-Tris-face. He darts his eyes away, happier.

"Man. I wish Tris said the same thing," he tells me. He gives me a smile. It's weak and wildly misplaced but it's a smile.

I laugh. "You gotta stop wanting her, Al. Dude, she's totally oblivious to you," I say. Or she doesn't want to know about him.

He sighs and his large shoulders slump. "What's up with you? You good?" he asks, scratching his thick hair. "Where have you been?"

My gaze falls to my left knee, where I got hurt. "Oh you know, throwing up 'cause I saw Edward... and his eye. Gods, it was terrible," I whisper.

"I walked out," he admits, lowering his eyes as well. "What did you do?"

I sit up and look at him straight in the eye. "I tried to find the man who did this! Find justice, law, and order! We'll put him on trial! Restore Dauntless. We're from Candor, now Dauntless, that doesn't mean we abandon that part of us!" I exclaim, getting determined.

"Oh," he says, looking sheepish and small. "That's what someone in third place would do. Be brave. Someone in seventh place would just run,"

There he goes, again.

"Al, you were lucky you left the room when that happened. I can't eat anything without throwing up," I say. I dig into my pocket and pull out two granola bars. "I've been living off of dry food. I'll suffer but the acid's rotting my teeth,"

He looks at my mouth then sighs. "Your teeth look fine,"

"Thanks?" I say. I didn't say anything about... caring what my teeth looked like. My stomach makes a protest and I nod. "Oh! That reminds me- I'm hungry,"

He looks at my hand and reaches out. "Can I have one?"

I nod. "I have too many,"

"Did you rob the kitchen?" he jokingly asks.

I did force Eric to give me all of his granola bars since he spoiled the end of Jonestown. He didn't seem to enjoy my demands. They're so good.

"Kind of," I say, pursing my lips. I pass one to him and the granola bar looks like a thin ruler in his large hands.

"What happened to with-holding law and keeping order? What happened to that lawful Christina?" he asks me.

I roll my eyes. "She kinda got lost when I was too hungry to eat all the other food," I say.

I put my head on his shoulder. It's meaty and soft, so it's virtually like a pillow. He chuckles and I feel like he can forget about the problems. He's just laughing and I did that. He has something very heavy in his smile and I want him to forget the... pain. I chew on the granola bar and smile a bit. I can be decent, I think. Ha.

"Huh? You can be decent?" he asks.

"Oh, I said that out loud! Shhhit," I say, cursing. I widen my eyes at the hidden insult. I smack his arm. "Dude! I can totally be nice,"

"Yeah. You just hide it from the whole world," he says.

I shrug. I want to ask him a question, so I do. "What do you want to do when we make it through initiation? We'll celebrate with drinks," I say.

He just sets his lips into a line, indifferent. "I honestly didn't think I'd get this far," he says, shrugging.

"You're not thinking positively! Sheesh!"

He thinks for a moment then looks at me, eyes wide. "I always liked computers. So maybe I'll do something in that,"

"So IT?" I gasp, shocked. "Bleh! Why?"

He looks at me coldly and it rocks me to my core. "Everything you don't agree with is so wrong. When really it's not," he scoffs, trying to get up.

He's upset! Just by that? I pull him back, with an apologetic, shining smile. "Okay. No need to bring the claws out... seriously technology?" I ask. "A future with all the robots and cyborgs, eh, Al?"

"On the first day, I wandered around and I found a full room of computers. It was a mistake but this guy named Zeke is nice and he showed me all about 'em. I was in heaven,"

"You get boners for... screens?" I ask, cracking a half-coy smirk. "Didn't know you were into... that,"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Cut it out, Christina," he says, grossed out.

I shrug. "That's cool. You'll get to wire this place up. That'd be cool,"

"Right?" he says, genuinely happy.

Even though he was scowling just a few minutes ago, in that sullen state, he seems happy for the first time since Dauntless without Tris glued to his side. He likes to talk about his dreams. I'll let him.

"What do you want to do?"

"What Eric does," I say, without a hesitation. "Then I'd literally change the way the new kids see Dauntless. That'd be cool, too, right?"

He nods. "You never paid any attention in class but you want to teach,"

"Funny how things turn out, I guess," I shrug. "So IT guy and the teacher. Taking over the classroom and the digital world? And so the Cyborg wants to make it through?" I tease.

He shrugs and gives me a small smile. "Perhaps. I mean, if I get through the second stage,"

"If? You mean you will," I say. I lean my head back onto his shoulder and curl my arm around him. "If you leave, who will I talk to about my, uh, problems?"

He sounds confused but I don't look at him. He seems bewildered. Sounds bewildered. "What? Don't you talk to Tris and Will?"

"Not really," I say. "Will's always jus' staring and Tris... has been... distant. She gets... so serious and stoic. You're not staring and you're not too serious, so you gotta keep with me, alright?"

"I'll keep with you," he says and gets a dopey expression on his face.

"Don't do dumb things, kay? We gotta get our tattoos," I say. "On our wrists. Like a sword and something cool and bad ass,"

He nods. "Not that big. They don't have to be big, right?" he says, being scared.

I smack his arm. "Shut up! Don't be a big baby,"

His head tilts from side to side and he clears his throat. "If I don't get through this, at least survive, alright? Keep your head over the water," Al tells me.

"Fine. You too, alright?"

We keep watching the blackboard. Now I have to get through initiation but for the future Dauntless and of course Al.

I can't ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, though.

I just hold him closer. He smells like lemongrass and soap. It's comforting but it's not ozone and coffee and rain so I can't relax.

* * *

 

  
Al eventually leaves, to talk to Zeke again. I wonder if he didn't have fallen in love with Tris that he would be with that Zeke guy. Just a thought. I have yet to see any gay couples. They were everywhere.

There were lots of men who married other men in Amity and Candor. If someone shows who and how they are- then that is honesty to Candor. If they are happy with who they are... then that is satisfying to Amity. We're only alike in that aspect. Other aspects- Amity and Candor never get along.

Looking sad and gray, Tris walks into the dorm, kind of dragging her feet. I send her a sympathetic smile. "It... smells like blood to you too?"

She nods. "It's... everywhere," she says, looking around.

I nod because I know what she means. I steel myself not to look at the patch of blood where Edward used to be.

"If I pinch my nose any more... I'll die," I tell her.

She nods then looks over at Edward's and Myra's stripped beds. "Where did they go?" she purses her lips.

"They quit," I tell her curtly. I try not to let my rage seep through the tiny cracks of words. Acting causal is way harder than I'd originally thought.

She recoils back and narrows her eyes. "Even Myra?"

I shrug. I think she is the one who convinced Edward to quit. Did Eric have something to say to him?

"She was going to get cut anyway," I say, trying not to be sad at about it. "At least Al didn't get cut,"

I look at the blackboard that she stares at, her expression neutral. As soon as I open my mouth to ask her to stay a little and talk with me, Tris is already gone.

I curse.

* * *

 

  
I wonder where Tris is, wondering whether or not I want to tell her about what's been happening with Eric and Peter. I freakin' kissed the enemy! For probably more than twenty-three minutes. I don't know. I did it. I'm sorry... for what? What should I say? Should I avoid her? He's tormented her for so long and I've kissed him!

I actively avoid Will too. He's been trying to talk to me after the whole debacle with Edward. I couldn't look at him in the eye. He keeps on looking at my lips.

I rush through the rocky halls and a peckish man with blue bumps into me. "Hey!" I say, shoving him. "Watch it,"

He gets pushed back a few feet and turns to look at me. He's a lanky man that has slicked bar hair, thin round-spectacle glasses and a notebook in his left hand.

Normally, if shoved a Dauntless would literally punch someone in the face or dance up a storm. This man just gulps, looking fearful for his life. I know he isn't Dauntless. He straightens out his striped tie and his mouth hangs open a little bit.

He's Erudite. His shoes are proper... I notice that they look like loafers. He has no tattoos and he seems extremely bookish. He's lost. Where's the nearest bookshelf? The pen that accompanies his dandy notebook is balanced behind his ear and I know I'm going to be annoyed to death by statistics and other boring, foolish things.

He still hasn't apologized.

"What's wrong with you? Don't you know you can't just bump into someone and not apologize? Where are your manners?" I huff, crossing my arms.

He doesn't respond, he's a statue and just scared.

I snap my fingers and he stares. "Hello? You listening to me?" I holler.

"Why must all of you Dauntless be so loud?" he whispers to himself, his accent posh and condescending.

He straightens his posture then wets his lips. His fingers twirl the pencil he swiftly takes from his ears. His gaze is imploring and intelligent. Curiosity.

"Well- are you okay?" I ask. "You're kind of shaking,"

His dark eyes lighten at the sign of my genuine state of caring. He brushes off his crisp suit sleeve and nods, a bit too fast. "I'm fine. If not a little overwhelmed by the noise and action,"

"That's what Dauntless is at its core, sir," I smile in a charming way.

He nods, not too reassured by my words. He just seems lanky and awkward, a couple of years older than me, but still awkward at my flitting tactics.

"You're out of place. You know it and I know it, so what are you doing here?"

"You are the first person to give me a few moments of their attention,"

And I am starting to regret that but continue...

"I'm grateful,"

"You're Dauntless, correct?" he asks, his tone exact and firm.

I nod.

"We, the Erudite, are interested in the general state of our people in our dwellings and that means the rates of satisfaction in each faction. Er have already concluded that Amity is the happiest faction but we want to know which community has the highest levels of satisfaction with their ways of life, their government and their ideas,"

"Alright,"

He then proceeds in asking me all these normal questions. Do you like the food? Do you feel safe? Do you feel you can raise your kids here? Do you prefer this faction to others and why? What is your job? Did you enjoy initiation? What do you believe about the Dauntless leaders? What do you think about Dauntless?

I liked to talk and the questions he asked made me think. I saw his teeth every now and then from smiling and I also saw him being appalled by our lifestyles. I guess you can't ever satiate an Erudite.

"What do you think of Abnegation?" he asks, flipping over to the next page. I must have at least filled seven of those sheets.

I shrug. "One of my friends are from Abnegation. She is peaceful and brave,"

"An Abnegation transferred from Abnegation to Dauntless? How curious," he says, his eyes sparkling with something I don't like.

"What do you mean?" I ask, frowning.

"The last time someone transferred from Abnegation to Dauntless, there were rumors of abuse in the household of the Abnegation politician,"

I lean in, shaking my head. "I know what you are implying and I don't like it. My friend hadn't been abused to switch into Dauntless,"

He backs off, nodding his head slowly like he didn't believe me. "There are always bad people with mal-intent. Even those who are acetic and supposedly self-less can do terrible, terrible things,"

I nod. "They still lead simple lives that benefit themselves. They are a lively people who enjoy their lifestyles. Who are we to judge when we have no idea what they do? We have only been filled with lies. Erudite, you should be helping them,"

He nods but unlike my previous answers, he doesn't write it down. He stiffens up and his expression is tight. "That cannot possibly be right,"

"Excuse me?" I ask. "If I think that Abnegation, like all factions, do great things, I'm wrong? That's so dumb,"

He nods. "It's awful that Abnegation had a reputation of tearing up those that are all things domestic. Just like how our factions live in peace, Abnegation has been given the role of the parent, to guide everyone when the rightful owners of that role are the Erudite. And just like that boy, they have struck out city so often that we are plunged into poverty, distress and many contemplate fleeing so escape their tyrannical reign,"

I shake my head. "That's wrong,"

He looks enthralled to be arguing with me. "How so, young lady?"

"It's all the factions that cause duress, Erudite. We all work together to sustain the city and if it's anyone's fault then it's our own. Every single one of us,"

"You cannot deny the possibility of Abnegation making problems. Their faction is corrupt and decidedly simple. Their leaders are decidedly simple and it's bringing desolation to our people. Wouldn't it be wise to cut out the tumor of a faction and put in the anti-biotics of Erudite? It's only logical-"

"It'd be logical if you shut up!"

"Huh?"

"Or I'll make you shut up!"

"Fists and brawn won't dispel Abnegations oppressive ways!" he says but it doesn't change my expression or the punch that's coming his way. "All Dauntless are violent," he grumbles.

"And you're a stuck up know it all who doesn't know anything, probably like all Erudite,"

He gasps. "Abnegation is ruining our faction system with one ruling at a time. Why are you and too ape-ish to believe that?"

"Did you just call me an ape?!" I yell.

He looks scared for his life and I wind up to punch him but my arm gets caught. I turn around. Four. His nails dig into my skin.

"What the hell?" I shriek and he grabs me around my middle. Like I weigh no more than a doll, he picks me up.

He carries me away and I kick and strain against his hold. With all my might, I take off my shoe and throw it at the Erudite journalist's head. His glasses break. I smirk when the satisfaction kicks in. Ha. Knife-throwing actually helped.

"Put me down!" I say to Four after the journalist is out of sight.

"I will when you calm yourself," he answers in a scolding voice.

I struggle a bit more. Why does he sound so accusing and disappointed? It was the Erudite asshole who caused stuff! I was only reacting!

Why am I only a sack of potatoes to him? Am I not that heavy? Or is he too strong? Refusing to settle down, he sets me down outside of another hallway. A foreign one.

"Do you want to cause a war?" Four snaps as his first questions.

Why am I getting blamed? I'm not the bad guy!

"Why would this cause a war?" I snap back, equally loud. He just narrows his eyes and I just shake my head. "I don't want a war. I didn't. He kept on saying stuff about Abnegation," I protest.

"You are Dauntless. You have been for near three weeks. What the other factions say about Abengation is none of your concern. You should not care nor cause trouble,"

"I get that Dauntless don't like Abnegation, hell it was _our_ faction who gave them the nickname 'Stiff'. Despite that and me being Dauntless, I won't stand for anyone lying! It's wrong and it still should be carried from my Candor days!" I huff.

He looks up at me, my brown eyes meeting his stark blue ones and instead of replying, he sighs. "Christina..."

"Four!"

He flinches at me using his name as an emotion.

"You're not in Candor."

"I know that! He lied, a lot! Spewing Erudite propaganda and saying they should rule! Those jealous assholes!" I yell out, not caring if I am loud. "They're going as far as saying that Abnegation beats their kids,"

Four sighs. "Not everything is a lie,"

"It _happened_?" I gasp, gawking at his face.

He doesn't answer my question. "But not everything is the truth, either. You can't take the bait,"

"Bait?"

"No one has given those Erudite time of day. There's a _reason_ ,"

"They're annoying and stupid," I mutter under my breath.

"No," he says. He heard me. "They're here for trouble. Though they are our allies, they still make the majority of Dauntless uncomfortable to rouse a response that they could twist and use against Abnegation," Four looks at me coldly, I swear the blue in his eyes turned to ice. "You're supposed to be smart, Christina, not run your mouth,"

"I get it," I say. "I get it but I am still not a ditzy loudmouth you take me for!"

"I never said you were ditzy," he tells me. "You can't attack Erudite journalists nor can you tell them anything," he urges on, continuing his spiel.

I cross my arms. "Are they really our allies?" I ask innocently, wanting to know. My foot is cold against the jagged floor of the hallway.

He looks at the corner of the room and just walks away. "Be careful, Christina," He passes my shoe and commands, "Get your shoe, as well,"

I watch him and the hallway he stalked out of long after he leaves. Damn him! And Erudite. He left me in the hallway I don't know how to get out of. Damn him a thousand times over. Eventually, I get my shoe.

 

▪▪▪

  
At dinnertime, leaving out the part about Four calling me a ditz, I fume and explain what happened and Will doesn't seem shocked in the slightest bit. Across from me, Al is disturbed, asking why I didn't punch the little fiend. Beside me, Will stays decidedly civil and doesn't even bat an eye.

My salad is crisp and green below me. It was too hard to grab anything else and I was stuffed with all those granola bars, so I took the lightest thing that consisted of a meal; lettuce and dressing. I put way too much dressing so the lettuce is equivalent to wet algae swimming in a pool of calories.

Not as interested in my food, I try to take some from Al. The fries he eats seem so much more appealing. He smacks my hand and I look at Will.

"Aren't you mad? He called Dauntless apes! Violent, idiot apes," I query after my failed conquests.

"I share your sentiments but I yawn because I don't find that surprising," Will says, shrugging.

"Huh?" I say, pressing. "Tell me why,"

Will sits up taller after stealing a handful of Al's fries. He gives half of them to me. Al scowls at me while I blow him a kiss.

"Seeiously, Al?" Will snaps in a an annoyed tone after Al jokingly pocketed my kiss.

Al pauses, huge and confused. "What?"

Will ends him an evil eye before looking at me again. I'm a bit freaked out.

What the hell was that... all about? Wai- did Will want a kiss... From me? I pause and refuse to comment, think or shudder in disgust about that.

"When we were kids, Erudite would make us go to other factions and give out treats and free services to those who didn't agree with the Abengation, with one adult who did all the talking. Most people got lists and lists of reasons why Abnegation failed as leaders," Will says.

I finish chewing on my fries. "Holy crap. Systematic brainwashing," I say.

Al pushes away his plate of salted fries. His appetite was expelled. Will takes the plate and puts it in front of our touching elbows.

"So we were brainwashed well before we learned how to tie our shoes," Will turns to me. "It's no wonder they come here, trying to brainwash the rest of us factions at an impressionable age,"

The delectable taste of the potato turns bitter. Impressionable indeed.

"That's Erudite for you," Al says quietly, eyes trained on the table. "In Candor, they would make us line up and write out secrets on the board. Just for humiliation. In the evening, all of the Candor parents would gather everyone up and it was called Confession because the kids, everyone under 16 would confess. When Confession would come around, we would report all of our mistakes and problems with other people in the faction,"

I nod. I remember hating being in that room with all the adults on one side and the kids on another. Staring. Policing you. It was hard to walk up to the podium and tap the microphone then admit all your secrets. It was the hardest part of Candor.

I ignore their conversation, kind of sad. I fiddle with my fork, trying not to frown too much. They'd say the truth is meant to be heard, this is correct. They were just trying to prepare us for revealing all of our secrets under the truth serum. Those assholes.

Noticing my quietness and my downtrodden expression, Will squeezes my thigh and I jump up. "Huh?"

"I've called your name three times. I was asking; what do you say?" Will turns to me.

"Say?" I flex my eyebrow. "Will, honey, you're not making any sense,"

"During confession," he clarifies, looking concerned.

I set my fork down. "When I was a kid, they would call me squealer because I said everything," I reveal. I look up to their amused expressions. "Yes, squealer, like a big, ol' pig,"

"Not much has changed," Will teases, laughing. Al nods in agreement.

"Not really..." I say, nudging him, a grin on my lips. It falls off of my face as I think hard about my past. "but I stopped saying what actually happened. For me and my friends, we'd coordinate things to say about each other to avoid getting hurt."

"What?" Al gasps. "You did that too?"

I nod and we share a mischevious smile. Will looks curious, like that Erudite from earlier. "You guys lied. In Candor. That's even worse than murder, to you guys," Will says.

"Murder is way worse than lying, Will," I remind him. "We're not that corrupt to think that,"

Al eyes Will. "Not cool man, not cool,"

Will shrugs. "A candor actually told me that when I asked,"

"There are _Candor_ who are dumb and blindly follow and there are Candor who think and see all." Al says wisely.

I nod. "Those Candor who see all... see enough and leave..."

"So... is murder worse than lying?" Will asks again.

I look at my table and Al says my thoughts. "I'd rather lie than take a life."

It sounds like weakness leaving his mouth but it's the truth.

Will scrunches up his expression. "Oh."

Yeah... people think lying is the ultimate crime. It's really not. There are other crimes like... sticking a knife in someone's eye... or rape. I don't want to argue about that.. so I just answer his question.

I shake my head, dropping that subject. "We never lied during Confession. We just told each other what we did that was wrong, so it was like our own mini confession between six or seven girls and then we'd choose the least bad confession and say that to the crowd," I summarize, pointedly looking at Will. "We didn't lie. We were smart about the truth,"

Not ending his question, Will leans in, seemingly annoyed. "Did they punish you at the end? For revealing the confessions?"

I curl my toes, feeling uneasy and hurt. "No. Not for saying the truth. Parents just hugged their kids for being so good and brave," I say in a mocking tone.

Will leans back in his chair, crossed. "Seriously?" he asks, darting his gaze from me to Al.

Al nods like he understands Will's confusion. "That's the part that confused me as well. Why would they hug us after doing such bad things?" Al asks. "I mean... my parents acted like I was the sun. They'd even put up my bad grades on the fridge,"

I laugh. "Must be nice. My sister, Rose, would get all the hugs. I was a bad kid but my dad would still hug me, even if I crashed his nice golf cart,"

And Eric will still get me lemonade. I smile into the algae mess of a salad. Are there people who love you even if you do wrong? I think so... I really hope so.

Will doesn't seem thrilled about the topic and he sucks in a breath of air. "My parents believed that hugging was unsanitary," Will says in a strained tone. "And kissing. And hand-holding. Did you know that the fingers are one of the dirtiest parts of your body?"

I nod then stare at my hands. "Hands touch everything," I say, watching the residue of grease gleam on my fingertips.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean to show physical affection- to anyone. Not even each other," Will huffs, not looking at us.

I narrow my eyes. "How did they 'hug' in the bedroom if that was unsanitary?"

Will laughs at my hidden innuendo. "Don't tell anyone but I think that they only got together because my mother was the smartest woman in the room and my father was a genius so they believed their progeny, me and my sister, would be the smartest things to hit Erudite," he says all in one breath. He does that, maybe to fit in more words but I would be panting.

"Did that work?" Al asks meekly.

"For... my sister, Cara. For me, not so much," he chuckles.

I shake my head. "You're smart," I insist.

"Yeah but not on their level," he shrugs. I wonder how inferior he felt when he was in Erudite.

"You're really amazing, Will. Don't doubt it," I say honestly.

Al seemed suspicious. "How did they keep married? My parents are inseparable and they kiss all the time. Even before they brush their teeth. She is so attached to him when he comes home, it's still their honeymoon phase," he clucks his tongue. "Gross,"

Will furrows his blonde brows, "They got married when they were, what, 17 or something?" he says. "It's been near 20 years,"

My eyes widen and I grab his hand closest to me, tracing the tendons that are prominent on his big hands. "That's a really long time to be unhappy with someone," I note sadly, without looking at him.

He doesn't answer me, so I meet his gaze. He stares at my fingers and gulps. "They do love each other," he responds.

"Really?" I say.

He winces. "Their minds were on the same wavelength. They'd always laugh and discuss and keep secrets and at the end of the day, they would clean up each other's notes and write complicated equations that spelled I love you among other messages. I found the calculator she wrote her number on and let my dad borrow so they could go on a date at the science lab,"

"That's so cute," I gush, squeezing his hand. "and kinda geeky but so cute,"

"What about your parents? What were they like?" Al asks me.

I trace the half-moons of his clean nails with my fingers and smile, thinking of them. "My parents argue but they live for arguing. It's their lifestyle. Honesty still holds up a relationship and that's what made them work- my father's a mechanic and he followed her around until they became high-school sweethearts. They still argue like kids," I chuckle. "It works,"

About two weeks ago, it would have hurt- talking about our parents but it doesn't and I don't know why. It's only been a day since visiting day. This should hurt a lot more but it doesn't. Doesn't at all.

"Only Amity kids have happy childhoods," Al randomly notes aloud.

Will tenses up and I massage out the kinks until he relaxes. "I heard they put stuff in their water. So they're high or drugged, constantly..." Will's expression becomes dour. "and it's true,"

I widen my eyes, my clutch tight around Will's hand. I'm surprised that he didn't cry out.

"Huh?" Al gasps. Too _loud_.

"Shut up, Albert," I hiss.

"Sorry," he says, embarrassed.

I look around, seeing that no one is watching.

"What do you mean?" Al asks, a scandalized expression on his face.

Will scans the cafeteria, also checking if anyone is listening in. "My friends and I had a pH level water tester and we tried it out on Amity water. My father is a calculus teacher-"

I stop tracing my finger, a nervous action, and pause. "You know how to do calculus? Why?" I am puzzled.

"That's your first question?" Will scoffs. In total confidence, I nod. "And yes, I do know how to do calculus,"

My eyes widen, delighted. "Oh- is it hard?" I ask. I hate at math. That's why I always slept through the classes and talked with my best friends. I miss them.

"No," he replies curtly.

"But-"

"That's not the point. My father went to Amity to talk to another Amity teacher about math-related topics and he got tired. It was July and it was hot. He came home and we thought he was drunk. My father, who's all scowls and stern words, drank the water and became a happy-go-lucky person. He said it was probably something he drank and my friends I snuck into Amity, all orange and red, then tested the drinks like Sparkly Melon Smiles and Twilight Happiness then acted like hippies,"

"That's wild," I whisper. "Did you guys get caught?"

I shake my head. "No. It was only until we got desperate and drank water.... and that's when we knew... the water was tampered with,"

Shit hit the fan. We all sit back and I clutch Will's fingers tightly. "That's messed up," I whisper after a long, contemplative silence.

Will nods and Al just squints. "What are the factions doing to themselves?" Al wonders in his low, distinctive voice.

The real question was said in the undercurrent of laughter and loudness. I shrug and Will sighs.

What are the factions doing to us? All factions... are brainwashing their young? What does that mean for us?

Will scowls and I hear the ruckus? None of us could actually... word our responses.

My parents communicate loudly. I can't even talk to Will about anything. Not like with Al and Tris. I think you don't love your partner if you don't holler at them at least once a day. Honestly.

I wince. I don't yell at Will at all.

I look up and it's Tris, she who has been missing for centuries walking with tough-looking Dauntless. One girl has a shaved head. They're all laughing, clothes dark, eyes bright and hair tousled. Tris is laughing, loudly.

The crowd disperses and Tris trails back to us, not as eager. She sees my expression and tilts her head to the side, confused and small. Why was she with those people? They're so... Dauntless-looking. Probably Dauntless-born.

"Where were you?" I ask.

She just stared at our shocked expressions.

So I press on, "What were you doing with them?"

She shifts in place and I notice how ruffled her clothes are. They're poofed up and her hair, usually neat and tidy, is all over the place. Her usual disinterested expression was swapped for one of pure... joy.

I note all of these things and she finally responds. "Uriah...you know, the Dauntless-born who was on our capture the flag team?" she says, uncomfortable. "He was leaving with some of the members and he begged them to let me come along. They didn't really want me there. Some girl named Lynn stepped on me,"

Will becomes quiet and speaks in a dull, lowered tone as well. "They may not have wanted you there then," Will says, leaning forward on his sleeved elbows. "but they seem to like you now."

"Yeah," she says, watching us carefully. "I'm glad to be back, though."

I frown, not convinced. She's probably lying. She looks happy- she really belonged with them. It was foolish to think... she'd want to spend time with me. I really needed to talk to her but I don't feel like doing so that much.

I just turn back to my soggy lettuce drowning in my dressing and Will eats some of Al's cold fries. They make eye-contact. I do not.

It's awkward and there is more noise around us than there is between us, leaving our mouths.

Al clears his throat, voice loud and happy. Of course, he's happy- Tris is here though she was out gallivanting with Dauntless born. "Well, you missed Christina almost punching an Erudite. He was here asking for opinions about the Abnegation leadership, and Christina told him there were more important things for him to be doing."

That's not exactly what happens but I poke at my food.

"Which she was completely right about," Will says in a matter-of-fact way. He always sounds that way when he's ready to argue. "And he got testy with her. Big mistake."

"Huge," she adds in but I can't look at her.

"Yeah," I say, lifting a shoulder. "While you were off having fun, I was doing the dirty work of defending your old faction, eliminating interfaction conflict..."

I look up and Tris finally slides into the spot beside Al. I give her a weak smile and she purses her lips a bit, the way she does when she concentrates.

"Come on, you know you enjoyed it," Will says. "If you're not going to tell the whole story, I will. He was standing..."

Then he tells the whole story. I know Tris isn't listening, her gaze goes right past I can't help but wonder about all these things that came from the talk the boys and I had earlier.

What are they brainwashing us with? Maybe I haven't slept enough... or maybe I am completely right and something is wrong with Dauntless. They let Eric drap me over the railing and they also allowed Peter to beat Tris until she couldn't move and no punishments are out despite Edward's eye getting stabbed.

Something is really wrong with Dauntless.

Or it's just me. It's probably just _me._

Then again, I've been wrong before.

I think of this while Eric passes me in the cafeteria, passing with two friends. Everyone else at the table flinches but me.

I continue watching him like a cinema that I could watch forever. Eric catches my gaze and like he did that first day, _winks_ at me.

It freaks me out when his jovial attitude changes in the blink of an eye. He's glaring at my table- or, _or_ something on it.

Eric spots my hand cradled in Will's and storms off.

I remove my hand from Will's as if it were a fire out to burn me and tuck it in my lap.

I feel bad for some reason. Why would he even care if I were touching Will? I am affectionate and he's _near_ and he needs affection. It makes me confused.

My cheeks are warm and I know that if I had darker skin, I would be a tomato, flaming up. Was... Eric... jealous? I like to think so but that makes me... hopeful and I don't know why.

What would his hand look like atop mine? Wouldn't it feel nice? I don't know. I'd swap Will's hand for Eric's at anytime.

Anytime, really.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	10. Flying

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 10-  
Flying

* * *

My mind to your mind.  
From my heart to your heart.  
I know the truth.  
Forever your truth.

In Candor, that song would be hummed as an apology or love song at a party. Played on record players. Danced by everyone in black and white clothes.

For some reason, I see Peter and I shuffling around in my backyard, doing the old waltz under the full sun. The sunset dyed his skin orange. There were chocolate curls that I carded my fingers through and giggles he stopped from my mouth by touching my lips. We'd laugh and touch and share when I'd sing it- the apology song.

After the song, most kids would either hug, draw the infinity sign on each other's palms or just touch foreheads. As a secret, I guess Peter and I would touch foreheads and smile. You don't do that with friends, it's too romantic.

Jack Kang, our unofficial Candor leader, taught me this. When my mother worked long nights at the Merciless Mart, Rose and I would play in his office, wrestling or be bothering him about philosophical questions. He was still honest and annoyingly kind while he grew up as an Uncle, close to us at the dinner table.

I always dream of Candor when it's too quiet and I dream about Eric when it's too loud. There's no in between the two extremes that leave me aching and too sore to function.

It's a bad habit I've acquired.

Before my mother left Dauntless headquarters, I dragged my feet because I didn't want her to go. I looked at her and bit my thumb, hoping that the physical pain would distract me from the actual emotional pain. It didn't.

As she was leaving the mouth of the Dauntless cave, I had to say it. It was killing me. I used to yell. Constantly. I don't know why I always fought her. Now, my voice was no more than a soft whimper.

At the time, we spent time, frozen here in the damn unease when Rose got escorted to a bathroom.

I just had to ask it. It hurt so much so I had to speak out.

"I want to know where you stand!" I cried out to my mother.

She momentarily seemed puzzled. "Where I stand?" My mother's usual cryptic eyes glimpsed back at me after sweeping the rocky ground. "Right here,"

I suppressed a moan of pain. "Not literally! As mother and daughter," I said, wondering why she's playing around with words.

"Christina, you mean where I stand with you?" she asked.

She turned around fully and looked at me in a sad way like she felt bad for me.

I stared at her... Why wouldn't she just communicate with me? That was what I spent 16 years learning how to do.

"What are our manifestos?" she asked after a long sigh.

"Mom..." I whined. "Tell me the truth,"

She was unmoving and just blinked her eyes. "And Christina, tell me the Candor manifestos,"

"Dishonesty is rampant, Dishonesty is temporary, Dishonesty makes evil possible," I recited, giving in. "I know it like the color of your eyes, Mom. What do they have to do with this? Your honesty,"

"Suspicion leads to conflict and solely honesty leads to peace, my dear," she whispered, continuing to quote the manifesto. She trailed back to me, smiling softly. She set her purse down and settled her hands on my shoulders.

Her perfume was all I could smell and I knew it didn't annoy me anymore.

Her smart eyes gleam. Her eyes have always been gold and my dad's eyes are hazel. I used to wonder how someone who spoke with the personality of bread and burnt toast had such elegance and pretty eyes.

Now I feel dumb.

She let out a small sigh and smiled. "The serenity we have in this society only stems from the honesty and openness we allow our other members to see. We are all black in white in certain ways. We can also show all our transparent love while staving away from lies. So you know, from the deepest parts of my heart, I shy away from duplicity and tell the truth. If I say I love you, I really love you. That's the truth Christina and nothing but the truth,"

"I'm still your daughter?" I asked.

"I never stopped being your mother nor you my daughter," she kissed my forehead, through the barrier of hair and disappointment and deceit.

She lifted her hands to my forehead and shook her head. "You need a haircut, your bangs are much too long," she told me, chiding me lightly.

I laughed and nodded. "I will," I whispered.

I leaned forward, my forehead on the crook of her neck. She let out a breathy laugh, the ones she gives my dad when they share a private joke.

"I'll listen," I added lamely. It was more of a personal project for me to listen.

"You never do," she reminded me sadly.

I know. I hate that, I thought. "I wish I had more time with you and dad," I confess.

"Aren't you going to give your mother a hug?" she asked, squeezing my shoulders. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't look at her, so I squeezed my eyes shut. "If I hug you now, I'll never let you go," I informed her.

She nodded, hurt but understanding. "Ah. I remember my choosing day. Your father chose to switch factions for me. From Amity to...Candor, isn't that wild?" she whispered.

I nodded. "We're rivals," I said, frowning a bit.

I remember picking fights with Amity kids when all they were trying to do was break up a brawl I started. Amity were just so happy and pleased with shit conditions and I hated them. Amity and Candor hate each other. And my mother married one of them.

"Yes," she nodded.

I suddenly feel the urge to ask if she would switch to Amity for my father but I knew... I already knew the answer.  _No,_ she wouldn't. So, I kept quiet and allowed her to sway with me.

"Just like you and Peter, we were rivals, until we weren't. I understand the struggle," she said. "It gets easier,"

"Really?"

"Yes dear, you'll get to have kids and maybe you'll also meet the love of your life. Here, in this pit they call Dauntless," she sounded like she shrugged.

"Will I be able to see you and Rose again?" I said, feeling my cheeks get wet.

I was crying.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," My mother said honestly and it's the bitter truth. My stomach ached, "but maybe,"

But maybe.

"There are moments when I love you and dad so much. Please, it blinds me," I say, faltering off. "This is one of those moments. Please, don't forget my affection. .."

"I perhaps may see you again. In some moments. In some time. If we take care of those moments, the years will take care of itself and organize fate for me to meet you again,"

The years will take care of itself. The moments will too.

I suddenly pushed her away and shook my head. "Leave... So it will be easier," I commanded.

She nodded and smiled, understanding. "You know where I stand," she said.

"I know the truth," I said through tears. "Your truth,"

I turn around.

And I took a step and two then three then four.

Then I sprinted. Sprinted. I kept on running, running until I get to some unknown Dauntless hallway to cry for hours.

I wake up and it's hard, I'm sobbing. There is no air in my lungs and I hate that I am dreaming about my family. I hate that. I hate that it's the only way I can see them.

I try to catch my breath but my chest hurts. I don't know why. My silent wails were violent. I lost my family when I transferred here. Oh, God.

My blanket is hot against my sticky skin and my pillow is cold from my fat, wet tears. It confuses me. Muddles my mind even more.

My hair sticks to the corners of my mouth and I had to laugh, though my throat was raw from crying and my eyes stung... "I really need a haircut,"

* * *

I dreamt about my mother... It was like a black eye to the face. I am such a bad daughter. I should have kissed her goodbye. She's been living, calling out to me in the silence and she lives in my eyelids.

The next morning is worse but I do go to the Dauntless barbershop. I didn't dye my hair or anything special so the woman probably thinks I'm boring for getting a trim.

It's whatever.

As the woman cuts away at my black strands, I think about my old faction.

Candor wasn't so bad. Even though we'd eat ice cream all day, we weren't even that cold. Candor's preferred dessert was ice cream and it would be everywhere, everywhere.

The Merciless Mart, or the Candor headquarters, would be fun and filled with glass windows, so my former friends and I could see, drink around and bathe in the honest sunshine.

It soothes me. All the girls liked having short hair because short hair allowed someone to see their expressions clearly, therefore you see their true intentions and feelings. Concealment is another way of hiding and I would rather keep myself open.

Now, my hair curls around my chin. I have fringed bangs. I believe it makes my dark eyes sharper. It's harder to not look monochrome when I wear all black and I look like my mother. It's never been a good thing until now.

I can't find the silver clip my sister gave me. I feel bad but I don't know why.

As I stand in the mirror, I try not to look at the woman who cut my hair. She's a bit disappointed with my choices but I'm not big or bold with my hair as she is ( her hair is dyed pink, shaved on one side and long on the other and that draws attention to her nose ring).

My hair is simple. I like it, so I smile at her. I gave her the money and coins and I paid for the style. I leave, keeping my head down and hoping no one I know will comment on my haircut.

Keeping to the shadows and hugging the walls worked until Peter passes me. In haste, he turns around, probably recognizing me a bit late because of my hair.

"Christina," he says lightly, hoping I'd pay attention.

I walk faster and I hear his shoes slap against the rough jagged rocks of the ground. He's running to catch up to me.

I don't turn around but I am aggressive and confrontational. "Leave me alone dude," I say slowly, hoping he'd get the message.

Apparently not. "Christina," he says, louder. "I'm not running after you,"

Good God, I'm not even one to chase.

Despite me ignoring him, Dauntless are disgustingly perceptive to these types of situations. Conflict.

People are looking (at me and Peter, who is like three yards away) now and some people are curious. Noticing that I'm noticing the others staring because of his elevated volume, he smirks. Or at least, he sounds like it.

He's not gonna- do what I think he's going to do, right?!

"Christina!" Peter yells.

I freeze and some people chuckle and others are annoyed, grumbling.

"Christina, I'll wait here- screaming til you look at me," he tells me, just as equally loud.

Aw. Barf.

"Will you both just fuck or make out so we could have some quiet?" someone grouse. Others chuckle.

My jaw drops and I grit my teeth. Fine.

I turn around and jab his chest with my finger. "What?! What could you possibly want to say to me?" I hiss.

He roughly grabs my arm and I know his grip is too tight. For some reason, he drags me back to the neon cursive letters of the barbershop, looking at me intently. There's the window and the hairdresser could see me, close to Peter and it annoys me.

It's like we're suddenly the most interesting thing here.

We're not.

"Why are you stopping here?" I say, avoiding the gaze of the hairdresser who finished my hair.

"Do me a favor and take in your surroundings more often, Crissy," he snarls gently, rolling his eyes. "There's more light- so I could see you better," he explains in a colicky way.

He leans in close and we can share air. It's suddenly too warm between us and I want to lean back.

However, his next action stops me. His actions were jarred and quick, like a hummingbird's. Now, he moves slow. He touches my forehead, spry, deft fingers smelling like copper and gun-powder.

"I wanted to say nice hair," he tells me simply.

He doesn't pull back and draws a little infinity in the space between my furrowed brows. His dark green eyes seem softer.

His eyes look like the algae scum that floats onto still, satin-looking ponds. Then, at other times, it's the green of the snow melting over the mossy grass at the first sign of springtime.

I never noticed... how green his eyes were.

My eyes search his face for something. Anything. I don't know what I'm looking for.

"Why... Why would you do that?" I ask, feeling nostalgia and pain.

I stop struggling in his grasp.

He stands up straighter when he notices our noses almost brushing. He seems confused. As if called somewhere, he simply drops my arm and backs away slowly. Like I'm a forest fire, out to burn him. I won't. I wouldn't.

"Fine then!" I shout, too loud. I'm always too loud! I hope he hears me though.

Forgetting where I am exactly, I curse aloud and watch him go.

Leaning at the door frame with a knowing look in her eye, my hairdresser grins. Her bald head glows red under the neon lights of the sign overhead.

"Boyfriend?" she asks, smirking.

I shake my head. "Not... at all,"

* * *

Eric appears in our dormitory in the morning and I don't glance at him too much. He informs us that it's stage two and just to be prepared. He leaves, without a following look in my path and I get discouraged. Shortly after breakfast, we're all grouped into a dark hallway with the blue light emanating from the lamps.

It burns my skin and I can't help but wonder why Four vanished into a room.

We're all closely packed together like sliced bread in a loaf. I perch myself beside Will. His legs are pushed out and my legs become numb after cutting off the circulation in this position. I encase my arms around my knees, my head on his shoulder.

It's early, I'm sleepy and he's warm.

I am so nervous and tired that I am not able to think properly.

I feel safe though Tris isn't talking to us and Al's anxiety could be felt even from here. I just simply doze off, mostly unaware of what's befalling.

"Christina!" Someone powerful yells.

I jump up, unfolding myself and I rub my arms. My eyes fall open and with a yawn, I see Four's handsome face- actually, not so handsome and mostly angry-looking face glare down at mine.

"You're awake," he says with thick, noticeable irritation weaving in and out of all of his syllables. It presented his voice as cutting and low.

Huh? Why would I need to be?

"Finally," he rolls his eyes.

I blink at him. How long has Four been standing there?

"On your feet. No time for sleeping," he says roughly.

Will pushes me, considerately, away from his side and I get to my feet. I'm still tired and cantankerous. My movements are terribly slow and I don't want to go. Whatever happened to just letting a girl rest? It's hard enough to sleep when I'm paranoid that Drew will stab me through the eye. The insomnia gets even worse when I know that Peter is in my room, the same room as me.

I feel everyone's stares as Four's crisp, fast steps approach a dark room around the corner. My eyes are watery from all the yawning and my back is loose from all the stretching.

Now I'm all nervous and tense, the opposite of what I felt before going with him. I try to dismiss the clamor of my blood rushing through my ears and how I'm secretly trembling.

"What are we doing?" My voice was barely higher than a whisper. It seemed so much louder because of the blue darkness.

He continues, on, marching forward. He does not spare me a glance nor does he answer. I shadow his steps carefully. Now I am all hesitant. I feel heavy. What is he not telling me?

Four doesn't even look over his left shoulder. "Facing our fears," he says. Ominous.

Something about that makes my skin crawl and my stomach lurches. My heart starts speeding up and I don't like it. I suddenly wish I was back beside Will, in the warmth and safety of not knowing.

He doesn't say anything else but I glare at his left shoulder. Facing my fears? What the hell?

Like a gentleman, he opens the door for me and allows me to go in first, see it for myself. I step carefully and I tread on carefully. I was slow but now my anxiety appears as goosebumps and I wish I wore a jacket.

The room is barely lit with no windows. We are deep into Dauntless territories, of course, we have no windows. There is light in the corner of the room, from a computer screen. There's a computer on a desk.

I flick my gaze to what's at the center of the room.

"Oh... crap," I say in a hushed timbre.

It's the chair I sat in... for the stupid aptitude test when I had to kill the damn dog. There's a boxy machine beside it and I don't know what's happening.

"Come on, sit," he says, from somewhere behind me. That succeeds in making it scarier.

My reluctance to get in the chair increases by a tenfold.

I shake my head. "Give me a minute," I say and I can't rely on my heart to beat.

He thought I was being sarcastic and chuckles a bit, thinking that I could climb onto the death trap.

I look at the metal chair then at Four.

When I don't move, he comes beside me and looks down at me, a semi-frown on his slender lips. He doesn't have a beard but the way he carries himself makes him seem older, intimidating.

He watches me, absently, like there's nothing wrong with it. "A minute?" His voice is tight and strained.

"I always need a minute before I can do something incredibly stupid or brave," I tell him. "So... just a minute,"

Being shoulder to shoulder with someone who knows what they're doing helps me calm down a bit. Despite that, I avoid his gaze and glare at the ground.

I look up when he doesn't say anything.

He surprises me by flitting his dark blue eyes away and looking directly at the chair. "You've got a reason to be afraid," he says, his tone understanding. Partly.

"What about that minute?" I ask, skeptical.

He winces, gazes at his watch then nods, not looking at me. "Okay," he lets out a sigh of an exhale, "we'll stand for a minute then get down to business,"

My lips parts in awe and I try not to jump up and hug him. I'm too tired to do that and it's Four... Yes. I'd rather live than anything else.

And for a full minute, I try to collect my breath. My nerves. My mind jumps everywhere and I want to just bolt out of the room but I don't. I pretend I'm plastered to the jagged floor.

It can't be that bad.

I don't even know what we're doing.

Calm  _down._

He crosses his arms, his ever-stillness... His seemingly perfect tranquility seeps into me. He looks calm. He's always big, buff and calm. I should emulate Four when I try to calm myself down. Relax. Steady. Easy.

I never realized just how kind he was. How kind he secretly is.

"Your minute is up," he says.

I sigh. I clench my jaw, hoping he doesn't see my weakness.

"You alright?" he looks down at me. He looks like he cares. Like he's concerned. He acted like he hated me.

I shrug, in a non-committal way. "Perhaps," I try to act nonchalant but it doesn't work. I swallow a shaky breath. "Why do we have to sit? Is... it like the aptitude test?"

"Nope. It's a stimulation were you face your fears in a landscape. You will learn how to control your reaction," he tells me. "Control your fears,"

"How do we do that?" I ask.

He looks up and notices my quivering shoulders. He faces me and his breath brushes against my chopped bangs. I can't look at him. I can't be weak. He determines my future. He gently pushes me forward and I sigh, tripping towards the chair.

All the while goading me to sit, I keep my gaze on him. He's not shoving me or touching me in inappropriate places. I have a feeling Eric wouldn't shove me either. He'd probably be super volatile and climb in beside me.

Despite that, I lay down, trying to look tough. The metal chills me to the bone and I hate this.

"Relax," he warns.

"That's not as easy as you think it is," I say, my voice trembling.

"If you need to calm down... Uh, count," he suggests.

"Count what?" I ask dumbly, sitting upright. When he gives me a strangled look, I ignore it and keep talking. "'Cause when I was young, Dad and I would count the funny hats in the Merciless Mart and we'd count the number of screws outside of his power tool and how many white sedans weren't on the street..." I falter off when I see his expression went from mild annoyance to full irritation.

He seems to take in all of my babbling the wrong way. He looks unsure of what to say.

"Er, I talk when I am nervous... Candor habit. Now I fight when I am nervous, " I share, gulping a bit.

He seems oddly pleased by my statement and turns away.

I reach to my wrist and feel the wristwatch, sticky against my perspiring skin. A small part of my fears palliate. They are still there but they're dying... a bit. I'm grateful in a backward way. To Eric... I don't know. Maybe it's the placebo effect.

Four watches me whisper and feel the smooth face of the wristwatch, skeptical. "That watch you're wearing- it belongs to someone. Did you steal it?"

"I found it," I say, way too quiet.

"Where?"

"Cafeteria," I shrug. He does not looking convinced. "Why? Does it belong to you?"

He shakes his head. I know he knows I'm lying. I don't even care. Minutes or seconds go by and I hate this.

"There is a great, deep chasm between us and our fears. We jump into it. The darkness, the ignorance, the bliss," he tells me. "As I say to everyone, you can be brave. Be brave,"

He shakes his head, twice in annoyance and doesn't say anything else. I sit back down on the metal bed, reclined.

"I won't ask any more questions because I don't want to know. I won't be a Candor smart mouth," I confess.

"Christina-"

I shake my head, cutting him off. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it," I command in the surest tone I can muster.

I slowly lay back and shut my eyes, so I wouldn't have to think about anything other than my fears.

"You okay?" he asks, sounding like he's scowling.

I feel a soft hand graze the skin under my ankle.

"Pffft. Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I say.

"You're trembling,"

"Well. The metal is cold and maybe I'm scared. Can you explain everything you're doing before you do it?" I plead. "'Cause if I don't know, I'll probably scream or something,"

Four releases a sigh and settles in one spot of the room instead of walking around. "It's an advanced version of the simulation. No wires, different serum, and no electrodes. There are tiny transmitters in the serum that send data to a computer screen that I can watch. I will have wires and you will be under the effects of the serum," he says.

That makes no sense but okay. I nod. "When will I need the needle?" I say, with a wince.

He doesn't make a sound, instead, he leans closer to my body. "Now,"

I reach out in the direction of his body, his voice. My eyes are closed and I don't want to know I'm alone. "If you're going to shoot me up then you might as well hold my hand,"

"Ha. Ha. No," he deadpans.

"I'm serious," I pant. "Holding hands is nothing. It means nothing to Dauntless. And I need someone to hold my hand as a reassurance that I'm not dead,"

"You're not six and hand-holding means a lot," he argues.

"It means nothing at all to Dauntless. Unless you don't come from Dauntless," I say, whispering.

"I don't like what you're suggesting. Hold your hand? Uh," he sounds awkward in between the pauses in his speaking. "Why would I do that?"

"I can take anything but needles,"

"But do I have to hold your hand?"

"Please?" I ask. "I'm not brave at all and you climbed a gosh darn Ferris Wheel. I wouldn't be able to do that. I would never want to do that. I can't be brave unless I know someone is there with me,"

I know I can't see him in the darkness I made for myself but I want to. He's soothing me, for some reason.

"The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds," he tells me and I feel his hand wrap around mine. "In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions—like fear—and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down—that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing." He drones off in an almost mechanic voice.

"Being brave comes from within," he says lowly.

And then I fall into the serum. I swear, he squeezed my hand two times.

* * *

I gasp for breath and I feel confined and stupid and scared.

I can taste salt water as I wake up from the stimulation and I am crying again. I see Four and I see red, blinded by rage, fear, and joy. I'm out of there but he made me go through hell.

"Christina, calm down. It's over, it's over," he says, grabbing my hand.

I wrench my hand away. "Don't touch me," I screech.

He just awkwardly retakes his hand and slides it into his pocket. My cheeks are wet with tears and I can't stop trembling! It's fear that replaced my blood and mania that hovers over me.

What the fuck? Why did I have to do that? Why would anyone make me do that?! He makes me wild!

I can't even look at anything. Moths were everywhere! I felt all of their papery bodies and I can't touch or look at anything. Anchored in my throat, in my clothes- in my hair. Bleh!

Those gross bodies- I never want to do that again. I can't! I won't. I coil up into my own body. I cry, my sobbing drowning out whatever he's saying and I want to go home, I want to see my family and I want to be strong and have my-

I have to skip town. Where would I go?

Damn it. I can't stop shaking.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"I know the truth. Forever your truth," I whisper over and over again, rocking back and forth. Thinking of Candor- it reminds me of my father's deep, rich laugh, my mother's clean scent stacked, warm papers and the mechanic sounds of the printer.

Aside from calming me down...it does one or two things, remembering them. This is a vicious place. I can't ignore my feelings. There's all this confusion like fog and everything is smeared with gray.

I close my eyes but I see the moths engulf me and when I open my eyes, Four's concerned, not sure what to do about my tears or me, in general.

"Tomorrow, you'll do much better," he says quietly.

"Tomorrow?" I ask, my voice small and tender.

I spring out of the chair and brace myself to stand at the edge of the room, comfortable.

"We have to do that again?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, wincing.

"Alright," I respond, my body like jello, melted ice ram and I am too weak to actually stay upright.

I lower myself nice and slowly, knowing if I slide down quickly, I will fall and I will break into a million little pieces. The wall is surprisingly warm and I like it. It grounds me for some odd reason.

He allows me a breather and I realize I stopped crying. Now, I'm just whispering Candor manifestos and visualizing what Rose would say.

Four's watching, waiting- commiserating. I can't look at him though. I don't want him or anyone for that fact to see me as weak.

What kind of sadists are they? Do they find this to be erotic? Why are we doing this again?

"Do our leaders hate us?" I ask, struggling to stop hyperventilating. "This place hates us. So unkind. Do you hate me?"

He doesn't give me an immediate response and I bolt out of the room before he could tell me to stay.

I don't even know where I am going until I get to Eric's dorm and surprisingly, it's opened.

I want to yell at Eric, I really do but I don't get the chance and it's hard to yell at someone who isn't even in his room.

I open my eyes and there's a card on the table. A stiff, all white card with a pretty cursive 'J' written in marker. Black, sleek lines fill my view.

I know that his apartment is the same luxury suit that is too big for him, to be alone in, but whatever. I want... I want to know who this J figure is. My face burns and I am grateful I can't blush. Is this some... one-night stand?

I casually sit on a sofa, not steeling myself to sit on the bed. It's just too weird. What if he- came on those sheets? With that other girl? What would happen... I suddenly wished it was me and I kicked that out of my head.

Instead of wondering, I just pass out from all the exhaustion and my nap was interrupted earlier... It seemed only fitting to doze off here rather than in Will's arms.

Immediately, the smell, the scent of his - coffee, cigarettes and booze- engulfs me and I try my damndest not to die because of satisfaction. It smells like warmth and sunshine- which should be weird since it's Eric's apartment and sofa and I'm comfortable.

I still inhale deeply, loving it. It's the... best. The good, right kind of scent.

* * *

Later on, I wake up and go to get something to drink. I know I missed lunch and I know someone must be looking for me but I just want to stay in this little groove of safety and wait it out. I can't even show my face without dying of humiliation.

Is everyone else terrified?

Eric comes in.

Eric seems confused as he stares at me, pouring a glass of orange juice into the clear cup.

I look at him. "Want some?" I ask, getting a glass for him.

I shift my stance and look around. I try to remember where everything is but I fall short and just stare at the cupboards. They're so... many. Too  _many._

How many people does he entertain or how long does it take to do the dishes? Damn.

"How did you get in here? And why are you in my kitchen?" he adds, glaring at me.

I reply with my own smile. "To get some orange juice," I say, cheeky and happy. "Want some?"

I jut my arm out to hide my nerves and a smile covers the real fear of being sent out there to the thirsty, wide-eyed growling wolves.

"No- get out of my kitchen," he tells me.

Fine. This is expertly made juice, so I will finish then I will leave. Maybe. I'll just lock myself in his bathroom until he begrudgingly allows me to stay in his humble abode. With that confirmed, I take a long swig of this damn orange juice. The Amity have outdone themselves with this batch. Damn good oranges.

I don't move and he waits and waits until I slam my cup down. Half of the liquid is gone.

"What was the first answer?" he asks me sharply but he doesn't tell me to leave.

"The door was open," I say meekly, tapping at the crystal cup with my fingertips. I should really cut my nails.

"Really?" he asks, his tone so icy it made me shiver.

"Yeah," I nod then tilt my head, wincing a bit. "Was it not supposed to be opened?"

"Did anything seem put out of place?" he asks, his eyes doing a sweeping scan of his entire apartment.

"Everything is out of place, Sir," I quip because there are clothes everywhere, unwashed piles of dishes and books on the coffee table with other discarded papers on his desk. It looked like a danger zone.

Controlled by a very unimpressed soldier.

He huffed out of his nose. "You smartass-"

"There was just a letter," I interrupt, grinning.

"From who?" he narrows his eyes.

I suddenly avert my gaze, thinking of just what that letter contained and who it was by. "I didn't look at it. I thought it was from your booty call or something," I say quickly.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I gasp.  _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid_. Me and my mouth just ruining things, aren't we?

He doesn't quite catch it the first time around and I just glare harder at the counter. He didn't understand what my fast, jumbled message was because the letters were strung together, garbled by my inability to say it any louder.

"What did you say?"

I cough a couple of times. My tongue feels tingly from the hint of pineapple and lemon mixed into the orange juice. "I thought it was from your... Booty call," I repeat, my words snarled out.

He still looks crossed and like he hasn't heard me.

Damn it.

"I thought it was from your booty call," I say, a little bit louder. This makes me feel embarrassed and hot and stupid. Why am I angry at some girl with nice writing? Do I have nice writing? Would Eric like it if I sent letters?

I just cage that thought up and shove it away.

It all swirls in my mind as I grind my teeth. I'm mad but I'm not sure why. Or what to do with these feelings trying to burst out of their neatly folded cages.

"From what? Speak up, Rookie?"

"I thought it was your booty call!" I say loudly.

My volume surprises the both of us and he stares at me, blinking and I avert my gaze. Well, that didn't turn out the way I wanted it to.

Eric just makes a low rumbling sound. I can't tell if it's dangerous or inviting and if he was amused- oh, he's amused.

"Booty-call?" he repeats, stressing the word  _'call'._

I just shrug in an exaggerated way, still not able to meet his eyes or lift my gaze off of the counter I flitted to.

"Okay- I don't know, it's your space, your place, your stuff. It had a J initial on it. That's all I could see before I passed out."

"In here?" he asks, a smirk teasing his lips.

I shrug. "It's big and underground... and I couldn't cry in the dorm when all my peers are doing so well," I admit, not knowing why my stupid mouth continued to ruin me.

I don't even want him to know but he looks sympathetic, his face scrunching up and he crosses his arms. "Second stage, huh?"

I shrug then pull my arms together, trying to warm up my hands. "It wore me down to my knees. This second... stage... is a farce. It isn't supposed to be allowed. It's torture, " I say, the trembling fading.

All the memories of being there rush back to me in flashes and I want to sleep or just never sleep.

"Fears torture us. We must become in control and not subject ourselves to the pain of cowardice," he tells me, voice husky and low.

"Fear kept us around for a while but I hated that. Don't make me do that again," I beg, sounding pathetic.

He shakes his head. "You know I can't or  _won't._  I will excuse your cowardice," he says, rolling his eyes. "This time," he adds in warning.

Some rage rips through me and I stare at him. "Like this time- you won't dangle me over the chasm?"

He stiffens and I stare at him intently. "You're still mad about that?"

"Yes! Why wouldn't I be?" I say while he shrugs. "Falling or not falling into that water showed up in my goddamn fear landscape. I didn't want to fall or drown into the water which reminded me of you."

He looks up sharply, his metallic eyes gray and stormy. I know I pissed him off but I don't know how.

"If you hate your time with me so much, why are you here then?" he snarls.

"That's not what I said," I tell him softly.

"It sure felt like it, Rookie," he spits out, practically glaring at me.

"That's not what I said."

He doesn't believe me.

I huff, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. "You know I'm from Candor. I took over a thousand classes on how to articulate myself. I'm also in Dauntless. If there is something to say, I'll say it because I'm honest and brave so- if I am saying something- I  _mean_  it. I don't hate your company. It's the opposite and you should know that," I protest in a rush.

He just looks taken back by my words and it's silent for a minute or two. I'm unsure of what to say and he is unsure of what to do. Maybe I act too spiteful, then again, I was right. I am  _right._  I still want him around, which sucks.

I just stare at my cup, realizing how strange my situation is.

Suddenly, he says, "I want orange juice."

I raise an eyebrow, staring at him and then at the orange juice pitcher. I turn around, my movements stiff and robotic. It makes me feel awkward but I have a task, so I focus on that.

I observe the copious amounts of cupboards. There are way too many. Great. When I look and open one or two, I am met with cutlery and baking supplies and plates. No glasses. I remember hunting for glasses but then I wasn't being watched so I'm trembling lightly and moving slowly, feeling scrutinized.

I am so nervous that my head doesn't work properly. I am another rebel in the great white open of Eric.

I get frustrated and sigh, what the hell. This shelving system is as complex and complicated as Eric is.

Suddenly, Eric is beside me, close enough for me to hear his even breathing. I feel his stare at me but I stare forward. He shuffles over and opens the cupboard and reaches for a cup identical to mine.

"Would you please look at me?" he asks after a while of me not lifting my gaze.

I tip my gaze to him, still tucking my arms into myself so I don't have a big presence.

"This one," Eric points to the cupboard he open. "This is the one with the cups. Remember that for the next time you sneak in."

There's a weird smile in his voice. I ignore it.

Despite myself, I snort. "I am not  _sneaking_  in, you leave the door open. All the time."

"Remind me not to, alright?"

I nod, giving him a closed-mouth smile. "It's an official reminder," I tell him. "Honest."

"I know, it's the truth," he says, kind of distant and disturbingly quiet.

He passes me the glass cup and walks around the sleek black dining room table. I pour it for him and I slide it across the table, avoiding his gaze. I drink my orange juice and it tastes weird. Along with the copper of me biting my tongue, the mint from my toothpaste isn't very nice with the tangy citrus.

He watches me too long. It feels like pins and needles on my skin but healing cream smeared across my soul all the same. I was torn between running away and leaning forward, making my cleavage more visible in his line of sight. Either one had the same bad, bad consequences I wanted nothing to do with.

He still stared and it killed me, so I just hid my face. Was it because of my bangs? My haircut has still not been mocked or praised. I usually know what he's feeling because he tells me. He's being oddly silent and it throws me off.

"What?" I say finally, looking at Eric over the rim of my cup.

"Your fears. Your landscape. What was in it?"

"Moths. The dark. Suffocating. Free-falling. Losing my family. Growing old. Staying young forever. Peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth and yeah, the world exploding," I list.

"You're afraid of the dark?" he chuckles.

"What's in it can or cannot be terrifying," I explain briefly. "You never know. We never know  _anything_."

Eric is still imploring and intense with his gaze. "So the unknown terrifies you, Rookie?"

I nod. "I guess so, but I like when there's an unknown..."

"I like knowing all the variables, all the outcomes, and digits but that philosophy fit when I was in Erudite. We Dauntless live for the taste of the unknown. It's probably the best thing that is or isn't out there," he finishes with a sigh.

He's quite poetic when he isn't scaring the crap out of everyone.

"There's so much neutral potential in the unknown," he continues.

That reminds me of Eric and me; unknown. That's what I feel for him. Whatever this is. Terrifyingly soothing.

Then, there's an odd pause between the two of us. I want to know what he's thinking about then I want to know what to talk about when we aren't arguing. We couldn't find a way to get over it. Then, he gets out granola bars and passes me one.

I catch it and give him a wondering look. He reads my flabbergasted expression perfectly; why give me this?

He shrugs and tells me, "I had too many anyway."

I feel as though it were a lie. I am skeptical but hungry, so I ignore how he's just doing something nice, something un-Eric like. I devour it with relish. When I am done, I give him a small look.

"Thanks."

"You really like eating muffins and granola bars, don't you?"

"No," I shake my head, chuckling softly.

"Why do you have them for breakfast all the time?"

A large lump forms in my throat and I find it difficult to speak but I talk anyway. "It's what my mom would eat every morning. I used to call her bran-bran-boring-Helen but now I wish I took back every rude thing I've ever said and taken the stupid muffins that she offered,"

"Her name isn't even Helen, isn't it?"

I drop my gaze and I shake my head, plunged in guilt and embarrassment. "No."

"What did you usually eat for breakfast?" he asks.

"Pink grapefruits. Like cereal. I would just eat it with a small spoon, a bucket of sugar. Pink Grapefruits," I say, nostalgic and hurt.

"Oh. Noted," he says.

"What do you eat for breakfast?" I ask.

He looks at me, smiling slyly. "Booze and  _or_  cigarettes," he says. I shake my head. "The good die young, anyway," he shrugs, noticing my disapproval.

"Eat a muffin or a granola bar or something that doesn't make you cough up black stuff or even die. You're honestly incorrigible. That's asking for cancer,"

"There the Rookie goes, being a nuance and a medic instead of a Rookie who is supposed to stay out of my business,"

I roll my eyes and move quickly, towards the exit. "Here I thought we could have a decent conversation. Bye, Eric,"

"Hey now, don't be a drama queen," he calls out.

"I'm not a drama queen. Have you ever considered that you're rude as well?"

He shrugs. "I know I'm rude. Come back. People are going to see you cry. You've got tear tracks," he tells me.

Oh. Fuck. I just want to go. Leave and that sight of my tears will make everyone think I am weak. So weak.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	11. Insight

  **Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 11-  
Insight

* * *

I storm over to the bathroom and stare at the cleanliness I didn't expect to be present. It's wildly clean here. Black marble is everywhere. The tub is big, big enough for two and the curtains follow the theme of the colored floor and walls. The sink, however, is porcelain white and has a heap of stones near the drain. It has inspirational words like; persevere, courage, fighting, combat, and strength carved into pebbles of varying sizes.

The mirror is of course adjusted to his height so I could only see my stupid bangs. Something about that puts me on edge and makes me feel honestly upset and tortured and I didn't know why. My heart clenched painfully and I found it hard to breathe.

"You lied... I look perfectly okay. Like I haven't been crying," I whisper in a small voice.

I can see his reflection in the mirror that is too tall for me. His piercings flash and he chuckles, not looking sorry. "I wanted you to stay," he says, simply.

"You still lied. To me," I say through gritted teeth.

"You're still here, aren't you?" he says, cocky and annoyingly right.

It scares me that I haven't left.

He comes up behind me and I feel the warmth of his presence burn me. He's so close. So close. His arms slide past me and box me in, and grips the edge of the sink. He isn't even hard. He's soft and pressing against me. His breath is hot against my neck and he looms over me. It doesn't even feel bad or like I am trapped.

"Do you want to know some of my fears?"

"What were they?"

"Drowning," he whispers, not looking at my eye. "Bleeding out to death. I got papercuts from frantically reading too much. So my parents would always say, 'Eric, you'll bleed out,' and I hoped so."

I wonder how unhappy his childhood was.

I keep tranquil and just sigh. I want to comfort him but I didn't know how.

My childhood was happy. I was eating ice cream all day and laughing. I smiled so much, I had dimples. My sister and I never fought and we'd spend nights just giggling and watching movies that we knew our parents hated. I would draw, a lot or be involved in some argument. My father would take me out on long drives and we'd sing to the radio. My mother didn't mind it when I would crawl onto her lap and sleep while she wrote and wrote and prepared cases for her lawyering days.

Eric... like all Erudite kids probably had an awful time in his young days. From what Will says, about his childhood- it was a blur of competition, lab dates, and statistics no one cared about. Always a show of who was stupid and who was just not.

I wonder if his childhood was a blur of kisses, love and familial ties like mine was or the opposite.

"That's quite morbid," I say, after a long pause.

Unexpectedly, he chuckles and it vibrates through me. "Isn't it?"

"I'm sorry..." I whisper.

"For what?"

"Your... unhappiness as a child,"

He just shrugs. "Whatever. That's why I still read, in protest of them."

I smile too, feeling the corners of my lip tug upwards. "How many pages do you read per day?"

"368," he says quietly.

"What? Why?"

"Clover says 500 pages are way better than 368 but 368 is her favorite number,"

Clover is his adoptive mother, so he's talking with another smile in his voice. He's probably fine, thinking of his days with Clover and happiness. I hope to thank Clover one day.

"It took 368 days for her to adopt me thus the number being tattooed on her heart..." he whispers.

My heart melts a bit. "That's so cute! My favorite number is 12 because that year of my life was the best. There's something that you can't take away from still being a kid. You're a kid but you're taken seriously. You get to walk to the grocery store alone but Mom still holds my hand. I get to watch PG-13 movies but I get to enjoy kid shows. I also had stayed out later but I got driven home. It was just a good year," I say.

My mom and I were closest when I was 12. I had yet to discover I had a mouth and I didn't argue. I went with the flow and smiled. Everyone was presented to me with satisfaction.

"My favorite number is four," he says quietly.

"Four?"

"Not him, you..."

I laugh.

I stay hushed and soundless then lean back, so his firm chest is smoothed against my back. It made me want to wrap him up in an embrace and run in the other direction because of its implications.

I question what my parents would say. What they would criticize, what they would praise and what they would do if they saw me here? With a Dauntless leader, two or three years older than me, in the bathroom with his dick right behind my ass and his breath hot against my skin.

They would be so disappointed.

Man, what would they think of this hairstyle? Fuck. Gulping loudly, I ruffle my bangs with my fingers. My nails need another coat. This is strangely domestic, him watching me fix my hair, I realize.

"You like it?" he asks lightly.

I don't know.

Why do I miss her so much? Why did I really miss her? I just wanted to be in control of my own mind and but that didn't mean I wanted to be away from my parents. She tells me something I forget and I yell at her for never telling me in the first place. What... am I doing? What was I doing?

"I think so. I don't know," I say.

It brings me back waves of missing her and Dad. I'm dying to let her know how I'm doing. I didn't cry at first when she left but it hits me more now that she's gone, a while later. I'm not entirely here, my soul is wanting to be at Candor.

"I look like my mom," I laugh.

And suddenly it all hurts. And now my eyes burn and I am trembling with the effort to not cry.

"Oh," he says quietly.

That's not negative. And I stifle a cry with my mouth and my shoulders shake with my silent wails. I hate that I am crying when something like this is my fault. I left. I left her and dad. I wish I just let go but I didn't. I hear new sounds and see new sights but I... I want my old home. My real home.

I left her and Rose for this shit-show. I found Tris and Will and Al and Eric but I really wish for my family. My blood family I chose. My chest tightens and I breathe heavily. I'm clean out of air.

I say, "I miss her," so much, so much.

The undeniable sobfest I have been avoiding is on the horizon and I can't help but cry. Hard. The waterworks come out and I can't be strong. I can't act brave when I know this-this is who I am...

And I cry.

"Oh fuck, you're crying," he says, alarm in his voice.

I nod, trying to stop or clam up but I can't. It feels terrible. I can't believe I'm letting him see me cry. I hate when I cry in front of people. Damn it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he says gently.

I shake my head, biting my lips for the sobs to not leave my mouth.

"A Candor that doesn't speak and doesn't want to talk about it. That's a problem," he jokes.

I turn around, unhesitant to bolt. How could he make light of my pain and laugh like that? I hurl myself for the door, kind of blinded by my tears. Instead, he catches me and holds me.

He holds me tightly and I gasp a bit. His arms encase me and there's just this glow. Intense fever and just this healing cream.

There are so many emotions of this first touch.

I try to pull away and leave but he keeps me here.

Needless to say, I'm on opposite ends of ecstasy and full dread.

Why is he holding me? He held me close and it devastates me but I feel safe... Taken here. The barrage of my noise in my head is quieted and I realize my knees are weak and he is literally holding me up.

He's keeping me uptight and I cry, my tears soaking his shirts and he stills me. I wrap my arms around the firmness of his waist and I squeeze so hard. I longed to be comforted, soothed and now I get it from him a guy who I almost always say I hate.

Would I let anyone I hate hold me like this in the intimate space of their bathroom?

Probably not.

He doesn't stroke me or touch me inappropriately nor is he volatile like I assumed he would be. He is just... there and I like it. His heartbeat isn't wild, it's calm and steady, right next to my ear. My whole sanity is tucked into his arms and I can't help but breathe out all the tension and all the hurts I felt. Float away...

"I miss my mother," I say, my throat burns and I try again.

"Everyone does at first," he tells me, into my hair. "Then it will become less and less."

He tightens his hold on me and I sigh in relief. Thank God he's here. If God exists. I don't know.

"Moments... of not missing her will come then years of not missing her will occur," I say, thinking of my mother's words.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Yeah," I nod into the ruffles of his clothing.

Maybe it could be better. Then we say simple things and my hip rests against the cold chill of the porcelain sink. We stay like that for a long time, I don't know how long but it feels good.

He holds me for a long time and it's perfectly okay.

It's perfectly alright.

* * *

When I have a good cry, I return after Eric soothes me. I calmed down enough for him to make me laugh and I didn't know he could be so funny.

I liked it.

But he told me that I am like him... in danger.

Nonchalant and scared, I walk back into the dorm. Everyone is there. Dauntless-born and transferred alike. Some stragglers are sleeping or standing in the spaces between bunks, having a good conversation or  _honestly_ _scarred_  from the fear landscapes.

I see Drew and he's shaking on his bed, fucking traumatized and I say he deserves it. No one else stabbed anyone and good that he's scared.

I don't immediately see  _Peter_ but I hear him muttering to himself. Before I know it's him, I know it annoys me so I ignore it and keep walking.

"Can we talk?" I hear his low, rumbling voice say.

I wheel around, looking at him with a caustic glare, tilting my head. "Aren't  _we_ doing that right now?" I ask while crossing my arms.

He looks exhausted. His brown hair doesn't have that same shine. His green eyes look like soggy lettuce instead of the green of freshly picked apples. He also has a newspaper tucked under his arm and he's being held up by that wall he's leaning so heavily on.

"Besides, don't you have a newspaper to read?" I say.

"It's Molly's but Drew had it for some reason. I haven't read it yet. She wants me to read it in front of people. Something big is in it," he tells me lowly. "Something about Dauntless."

"Well. Go back to the tank and make conversation with her," I say, shrugging. "You guys are obviously busy with whatever..."

"Don't be shitty," he says, anger shifting in those green orbs of his.

I just want to wheel away and set my head down on the pillow, filled with Eric's windbreaker.

He scratches the back of his head, looking so worn and defeated. I knew that even the best of us don't come out of the landscapes victorious or empowered.

He pushes off of leaning heavily on the black wall. "We need to talk about that kiss... I... Did I bite your lip or something? Was I bad?"

I rock back and forth on my heels, shaking my head. My lip gets snagged in my teeth as I bite them, a bit. Trying to remember the pressure of his lips against mine was easy.

"No... It wasn't wasted time. You were good," I say, looking at my feet. "Great, even."

He notices this withdrawal and sounds confused. "Then what, you barely look at me. If I am so great, then why don't you want to speak of it?"

I shake my head, remembering how  _I have_ been avoiding Peter. At all costs, really.

I almost always leave the room when he is there. I try to be away from him as much as possible, in the common rooms, the cafeteria, the showers- hell, even in the training room. I never respond to his insults or pleading glares. He leaves me alone, now. I don't make eye-contact with him and if he's there, I high tail out of there.

I have to.

I shake my head, thinking of every rude word he's ever said to me. "Because... of what you do. You always torment me, Tris and Al. If you want to kiss me so much, why hurt me just as much?"

"I did one wrong thing-"

"One  _wrong_ thing? Are you delusional? I've seen you evolve into someone so rude and cruel to the rest of us! How can I kiss you when you are so awful to everyone?"

"Christina..." he says waningly. I watch him a moment, kind of guilty but I am right. I can't kiss the enemy.

"No. Get this through your head. Our kiss means and will  _mean_ nothing," I whisper. "Nothing, you hear me?"

I sashay off, collapsing onto my bed with a strangled sigh. The smell of Eric whooshed all around me, giving me some warped sense of security and hommage. It's strange.

Eric and Peter come from the same vein of people, looking for blood and misfortune to feed on.

I called Peter cruel but Eric is the same way.

Was I scared of Eric anymore?

Drew is the one who literally stabbed someone in the eye and Eric hung me over the chasm. Why do I forgive  _Eric?_ Why did I let him hug me?

It felt good. Better than the other guys who would touch me and that I would kiss. He felt, how should I put this, nicer than and stronger than whatever Will could provide me.

I haven't failed to notice the way he looks at me when he thinks no one is listening or the way he holds doors open and treats me like a lady when I could literally beat him up.

He's always so kind and nice to me.

And Eric... provides me a challenge. I should have just  _n_ _ot_ interacted with him.

Fuck.

It takes me back to his apartment where we stayed together, just being normal and peaceful- something I never anticipated with such a man with the likes of Eric.

_I sigh and he gently sways me. Back and forth, easy, and it makes me feel like I'm back in one of the Candor pools with my friends. I used to swim all the time. Showers and baths just aren't the same._

_My head is on his shoulder and I toy with the sleeve of his Dauntless jacket._ _It's so rough. His palm is nice and smooth when he touches me,_ _though._

_I am glad I put on that perfume and that I'm wearing something slightly revealing. My nostrils aren't so blocked and my occasional sniffles don't encourage me to start another sob fest._

_I can't believe I cried in front of him..._

_"I'm sorry for crying in front of you," I say lowly._

_Just after I say those words, I realize I haven't cried in front of anyone in such a long time and felt bad. There was a soft aching in my chest,_ _the_ _aftermath of my memories with my parents and the sweetness of this moment stuns me._

_His chin rests on the crown of my head and my eyes drift close. "Don't worry about it. Dauntless show strength in different ways. This is a way you're being strong," he tells me._

_This is a way I'm being strong... How? Damn... There he goes being poetic. It's sort of hot._ _I should stop thinking of this... him- like that._

_"Poetry..." I whisper, mumbling into a pocket in his shirt._

_"Huh?"_

_"Did you read poetry?"_

_"Yes..."_

_"No wonder you're a damn charmer," I say, jokingly. "Sometimes I say you're Dauntless but you're nicer than you look._ _.."_

_"You telling me I'm Amity?" he stiffens and his voice is tight._

_I shake my head, squeezing myself closer to him. "No... but maybe you're mean to hide it," I suggest._

_"That's not an entire lie," he says, shrugging. "You're unnecessarily sympathetic and kind... too but you're also spiteful and brutal. We could swap each other's hearts and still end up the same..."_

_Wow. "One of the same..." I continue. "Does that scare you? You're all of them..."_

_"All the factions?" He stiffens but I talk anyway. "You could be Erudite, you're really smart. Dauntless because you're brave and Candor because you're stupidly honest and I like that. Amity- you could be nice and you could be..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Really lovely."_

_He's still a wound up coil and I wonder why he's so bothered. "You know how dangerous your words are?" he says, snarling._

_His pulse and heartbeat are wild and it makes me feel nervous. What am I saying wrong?_   _He's the calm one. Well. Stoic one._ _We are both guilty to having fits of anger and rage..._

_"How dangerous are compliments? You're nice, is that a crime?" I ask lightly._

_"Being kind, brave, smart and honest is a crime... Don't talk like that around the leaders, alright?" he warns me._

_He was steady and I like that. Now, it feels like I'm rocking the boat_ _of us._  " _Okay,"_   _I say, to make him stop jolting and shaking._

_He isn't satisfied. "Promise me you'll not say anything like that to anyone."_

_"Okay. I promise."_

_I stay quiet and as done as the words leave my mouth, he chilled out._

_"You can't get caught up in the war," he tells me, whispering into my hair._

_"War? You talk about the war like it's a reality," I whisper._

_He doesn't answer me, just holds me tighter. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it._

_"Enough about wars... Can I say you're kind, brave, smart and honest? In here, when we're quiet?" I ask lowly._

_"You could say anything to me," he says gently. It's the kindest I've ever heard him._

_Then, can you please not make me do the simulation? I want to say that, hoping for him to say yes and save me from my torment but that is stupid. I need to hold my own, get stronger._

_I try again. "If you can't go into the stimulation and scare all the fears away... then... can you tell me how to be better, get over my fear?"_

_Instead of promising me the world and safety, he says; "Don't do well during the simulations. Take it from me," he advises, like what he said was a good thing._

_What?! That's just assuring me my Dauntless death._

_I push away and shake my head. "I have to be one of the greats. To continue and reach where Four is, a trainer for the newbies, I have to do well._ _"_

 _"If you do too well, you'll become a target," he_ _snaps._

_I cross my arms while he just sighs, rubbing his temples. "A target? For what other than a good apartment and I dunno, a job. I want to be with honor... I don't like to be cast away. I hate not showing my strength!"_

_"It's not life or death if you're not one of the leaders or trainers... We're very lucrative in that way," he says quietly. "I want you around, not in the chasm... and not hurt..."_

_Why is he telling me to do this? To underperform and lag behind. When I do something great, it's wrong. When I live unremarkably, I miss out._   _I have to be good._

_"I can't," I tell him with steel in my words so he couldn't bend them or break them._

_"Why not?"_

_My lower lip hangs in awe. "I'm not one to just follow your orders that are outright stupid. You're already a Dauntless leader. I have so much to prove to the world. So much to prove to you. Honor the reasons why you didn't cut me!"_

_"Just do it," he says, catching my waving arms by my wrist and holding me still so I could look at him in the eye. "That is life or death."_

_I feel like screaming. I feel like crying and I want to know why Dauntless is so dangerous. They say that our Dauntless weapons are the ones that kill. They do the most evil but it's those who hold them._

_His grip tightens on my wrist and I sigh, fighting him. What is he not saying? Why won't anyone answer my questions? Fuck._

_"Sir... what are you not telling me?"_   _I ask feather-soft, no venom in my tone._

_"There's a lot you don't know and that much I am not going to say..." he says firmly, his eyes never leaving mine._

_With that, I sigh and turn my eyes downward, not to look at him. "Why is it bad to be good at conquering fears? To not be a coward?"_   _I say, my voice broken._

 _His voice is loud beside me and I don't know why but I suddenly don't feel safe._   _"There are these certain people in the ranks that don't like those who are kind, brave, smart and honest. You lack some Erudite in you but you could be like me,"_   _his voice drop to a barely a whisper._

_I finally wrench my arm out of his grip and feel his pulse. Steady. No discrepancies in the beat._

_"What's so bad about being strong?" I whisper to myself._ _His breath is hot against my ear and my skin burns from the contact of him._ _"_ _You're asking me to be weak..."_   _I say slowly._

 _His lips brush my temple._   _"I'm not saying to be weak, just less strong, alright_ -

And I get knocked out of my dreamland and memories when Peter's and fifty other people's laughs crash through my concentration.

Someone's voice calls out, "Does anyone want to hear why the Stiff  _left_  Abnegation? She obviously doesn't belong in Dauntless where we are brave and strong..."

"She's tiny and annoying and  _she's definitely_ going to not make it to the end, " Molly laughs.

I shoot out of bed. No one who could back me up is here. Where is Will, where is Al?

There's a crowd of Dauntless-born and Dauntless-transferred and me, on the edge staring at all of them like they're lunatics.

Someone is in the middle and their voice is the loudest. It's Drew and his hair is unsettlingly orange. His hood ears, his button nose, and the freckles that are splashed all over his face makes him appear years younger. All the more innocent and disturbingly childish.

Peter is beside him, looking neutral. He doesn't have the article anymore, instead Drew has his paw on it. What is Peter doing? The crowd swarms around the two and I have no idea of what is going on.

We make accidental eye contact but for the first time, Peter doesn't  _maintain_ this state. He quickly darts his gaze away, cheeks reddened.

He shifts and snaps, "Just show them the stupid article."

Drew laugh sounds out and he smiles. He holds up the thick newspaper bunch, high up in the air. "I've got here, a little article full of the truth..."

My heart climbs up into my throat. What is that article? My gaze shoots to Peter, who looks just as confused and desperate for answers.

I frown. What is Peter up to?

With that, Peter begins reading,  _"The mass exodus of Abnegation leaders cannot be ignored or attributed to coincidence. The recent transfer of Beatrice and Caleb Prior, the children of Abnegation leader Andrew Prior, have called into question the soundness of Abnegation values and teachings,"_ his voice wavers. He frowns at the page and tilts his head at Molly who just emerged into my view...

Where are they going with this? What did Erudite say about Abnegation? And Tris's name was brought up? Was it her? Does she have a  _brother_?

"What is this?" he hisses through pursed lips.

"Payback," Molly says which simply makes Peter's eyebrows reach the roof of his face.

Before the pause, she nodded along to all the words Peter had said before he stopped.

"Okay- Peter, keep on going," Molly smiles.

Peter frowns. "I think you two deserve the spotlight on this one. Why don't you two keep going?" he says, looking at the two.

Drew and Molly exchange glances but Molly moves to the middle where Peter had previously been, at the center of attention. She shrugs and stares down at the document Peter practically shoved into her hands.

"It's, uh, your big moment," he explains.

My eyes widen. Peter willingly stepped out of the spotlight and said 'uh'. No Candor in my life had said 'uh', especially one as metricious as Peter.

What's really going on... with Peter?

Molly nods, happy at Peter briefly touching her meat shoulder. She clears her throat and nods. "Alright..."

And then she reads. It switched between Drew and Molly for a bit scanning the sheet for lies. Peter stays in the shadows, cowed and uniquely quiet and somber.

That snake. Drew gets so excited and he's reciting all the words in the article before he snatches away the paper from Molly's hands and reads out.

 _"Why else would the children of such an important man decide that the lifestyle he has set out for them is not an admirable one?"_ Drew says.  _"Molly Atwood, a fellow Dauntless transfer, suggests a disturbed and abusive upbringing might be to blame. 'I heard her talking in her sleep once,' Molly says. 'She was telling her father to stop doing something. I don't know what it was, but it gave her nightmares."_

There's heat beside my shoulder. Only one guy would stand that close without calling me' Rookie'.

_Will._

"Al wants to get another tattoo," Will tells me, his lips right next to my earlobe.

I wince. "Seriously?"

Al never does anything without goading from me or Will. Tris never talks to Al anymore. He looks more deflated than usual because of that.

"Yeah..." Will says but he falters, not finishing his sentence.

The false words of Drew and Erudite become annoyingly loud.

"You hearing this?" Will's pleasant and all-knowing voice says.

I frown and nod. "It's just that they're always chasing trouble but I don't know if Peter is involved cause he stopped multiple times... What do you-"

I look at him and stifle my gasp.

At first glance, he looks like an impersonation of the bright, sarcastic and shiny Will I am used to. I forget that we all went through the simulation but not all of us had someone to hold us. I feel oddly guilty of not soothing Will or anything.

"You okay?"

He shoots me a wildly misplaced and faint smile. "I  _will_ be," he says quietly.

I reach out to his hand and capture his fingers in my grasp.

"It'll be fine," he tells me more firmly.

I look away. He doesn't want pity or sympathy. Why is he holding my fingers so closely? So tightly.

I look away. "We'll help our Tris defend herself from these jerks," I say.

He shoots me a neutral glance that I also can't decipher. Like he won't say something he wants to. The Candor in me hated that.

We quiet down and Will exchanges angry looks with me. As they read the article, my teeth grit and I want to punch their jaws to make them shut up. Why do they pick on her? Why does Molly hate Tris so much?

The article says how Molly Atwood has told Erudite that Tris or whatever got abused and the later dreams and screams in her sleep because of it.

Why lie and cause problems? We were Candor! Frick.

When I move forward, Will clasps my arm and shakes his head. "Later," he tells me softly.

"Later? Why  _later_? No, we must do something  _now._  While we can," I say and he keeps his grip iron tight.

He looks like his decision of what to do was cemented. "No."

"But they're defaming Tris and Abnegation. We could make them shut up," I say, disbelief tinting my tone. "Why don't you want to?"

He sighs, disappointed that I don't get his point of view. "Do you want to start a brawl? Logically, we wouldn't fix anything, just exacerbate the problem," he replies to my accusations.

"We're exacerbating the problem by doing nothing and  _standing_  here, spineless," I hiss and I pull myself out of his grip. "Interfaction conflict is at an all-time high, we can't allow what Molly and Erudite's doing- furthering lies about the Abnegation."

"It's not your faction, why care? We're Dauntless. Not Candor, Erudite or Abnegation. We have no time to concern ourselves with this. It's politics to spread false tales and stories about their enemy. Erudite is jealous of what Abnegation has done and they are lowering themselves to this level- let them."

I'm tired of people telling me to become a background figure. It's strange that  _he_ would want to be in the background. If they are causing problems, why not snuff them out and take things into our own hands?

"I believe in peace and lies are sometimes the enemies of man. I think we should reverse whatever Erudite is doing by not letting them band with people like Molly!"

"We can't fight every one of Tris's battles, Christina," he says sharply. "This isn't even our battle..."

I blink at his words. Did  _we_ fight all of her battles? It doesn't matter.

"We could keep her safe when she isn't here, Will. Her fight is our fight, too," I snap.

Will is equally  _frustrated_ with me as I am with him. I am about to push through the crowd, sending one last glare at Will.

As Drew speaks, some girl's voice says, "What?"

Oh... shit.

That shaking but marble-smooth voice belongs to no one other than Tris...

She heard. My heart drops.

I turn around, amongst the crowd of Dauntless and sigh. Mostly everyone is smiling, smirking at eyeing each other happily.

_Fuck._

Slowly, everyone turns. I assume Drew is the last because Tris glares at him.

Her face is in flames, a hurting red color.

"Give me that," Tris says, holding out her hand.

"But I'm not done the reading," Drew replies and he is about to laugh.  _"However, perhaps the answer lies not in a morally bereft man, but in the corrupted ideals of an entire faction. Perhaps the answer is that we have entrusted our city to a group of proselytizing tyrants who do not know how to lead us out of poverty and into prosperity."_

Then, noticing that Tris is charging to him, Drew hands the article to Peter. Peter, who wasn't involved but looked guilty all the same, panicked and held the article above Tris's head.

The juxtaposition between her lack of height is shocking when facing Peter. Her five feet to his six feet. Kind of sad.

Tris glares at him and refuses to jump for it. It would only succeed in humiliating her further. Because he's not going to let her do anything hasty and brisk, Will goes over to Tris. Will is at the center of the problem and he gets close to Tris. Probably to talk her out of this or lecture her.

Instead of doing that and being foolish, she stomps on Peter's foot.

Peter clenches his teeth to hide the groan of pain. I hear it.

Then, wild and unrestrained, she lunges for Molly. Will catches her around the waist and carries her out of the dorm.

I sigh. What the hell are they talking about? There's a long pause and the bullets from Drew's lips have hit Tris. She is furious.

I walk up to Molly and Drew, furious and puzzled. "You both have a tie for the title the worst person, I, Christina Ophelia Murillio, have ever met."

"Thank you," Molly snarls, crooked teeth showing.

I swivel around to Peter.

Standing this close to him, I jut a finger out to his chest. "And you- I expected this. Why would I  _ever_ kiss you if you have friends like Molly the liar and Drew the follower," I snap before walking away.

I march over to Al. Al isn't dumb and weird like Will can be. I like Al. He doesn't confuse me.

"You saw that, right?" I say, conversational and sad.

Al is a void of emotions and he doesn't pay attention to me whatsoever. He looks like he got hit by a bus. What was in his fear landscape? It takes three times to get his attention.

"God, Al, are you alright?" I say loudly. I am worried for him, it makes my heart speed up.

He looks absolutely haunted. "I didn't know fears  _consumed_  people," he answers.

What poignant words to say but scary none the less.

I feel like I am on a tightrope or something. One wrong move would send me falling into an unknown.

"Fear doesn't consume us," I roll my eyes. "Albert, lay off of that juice, alright?"

I watch him a moment, afraid of what to say and what to do. He's different. He's pale. His lower lip is dry and trembling and he isn't even speaking. His clothes hang off of him and he isn't pretending to be okay and dandy like the rest of us are. No one emerges  _fine_ but we still have to break away from the fear and terror.

I want to distract him from this darkness, not allow him to entice it. I want to make him laugh. Feel  _good._

"We're getting tattoos, aren't we?" I tug on the collars of his black and gray plaid shirt.

"Yeah. I need to feel," he says vaguely.

I freeze. Huh?

"Pain reminds us that we're still alive, doesn't it?" he says, looking blankly. "Pain reminds me of Dauntless life, how to discipline myself,"

I narrow my eyes. What he's speaking of sounds like a necessary pain to feel something. Is he numb? How much of the old Al has been given to this crippled one.

"I didn't do well during my simulation. I always do let myself down," he adds forlornly. "I  _need_  this tattoo... They hurt a lot."

Tattoos usually celebrate good thing and tattoos hurt, yes. People don't get tattoos because they want to feel something.

"You can't punish yourself with pain," I scoff, lightly slapping his muscular shoulder.

He shrugs away my hands and I continue frowning at him.

"Tris doesn't even look affected by the simulation," he says, changing the subject.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? She's strong," I shrug.

"Too strong," he says in a low, seething way.

Not noticing the tone, I shrug. "Is there any such thing as too  _strong_?" I ask honestly.

"About Tris; Peter and Drew are crazy mean," he tells me, sitting on his bunk and deflated.

"They're crazy. Trust me, it's more of an umbrella term than you think," I say, sitting on the bunk across from him.

From articles to stabbing people in the eye, there are colorful but evil people in Dauntless.

"These are the people we're going to be living with, aren't we, Cyborg?" I chuckle. Then my chuckle dies off and I feel bitter and unnerved.

These are the people I'm spending my life with. That makes me stressed and angry and hurt all at the same time. Everyday... I will see Peter and Molly and Drew all the time. Oh my God.

But I will be able to be happy... I think?

Al groans and stares at his feet. They're hairy.  _Large._  Hard to believe he's  _only sixteen._

"I don't know if I'd want to live with Tris around here," he tells me earnestly.

"I get it... It's awkward between you both," I say.

"Yeah.  _That's_  the reason," he says, throwing two quick glances at me. "She's too good to stay..."

"Al, I don't know how I feel about you saying she's too good for you-"

"That's what I meant," he tells me quickly.

I just raise an eyebrow. Were we not talking about the same things? What is she too good at?

What?

It makes my brain hurt, to think of Al's little actions, so I shake my head. "We're getting tattoos, for the right reasons?" I ask. "Right?"

He shrugs and seems acutely aware of my suspicious side glances. "There are better things to feel," he replies.

"Really?"

"Like talking to Zeke. I think he's cool and he survived this, so why not?" he tells me.

"Living vivaciously for others and through others isn't the way to go," I say quietly.

Al looks at me, confused. "What?"

"Nothing... Let's go check up on Tris and Will, alright?"

He nods. "You're keeping with me, right?"

I nod. "I'll keep with you," I say, my voice shaky and unsure.

Usually, I'd allow him to sling an arm around my shoulders and laugh in my ear but I make sure to keep distance between us.

In the back of my mind, it feels  _safer_ that way.

And I hate that I don't know why. I really don't.

* * *

After badmouthing Erudite, Tris is exhausted and plops down onto my bed. "My ex-faction is getting torn apart by power-hungry men and women!" she exclaims and crosses her arms.

I nod, swallowing nervously. "Mhmm," I say.

Before this rant, I was doing her makeup. She isn't still and I don't want to mess up but I  _will_ if she doesn't stop moving.

"You think that Erudite is just a bad faction too?" Tris demands, at the edge of my folded blanket.

I don't know. The greatest minds come from Erudite and they have enlightened society in many ways.

They do some great stuff before this article and asshole behavior. They're like a petulant child who is up after bedtime.

They provide us with doctors, engineers and technologies we never had before. They (like all other factions don't) allow cross-faction adoption. Then again, the most transfers come from Erudite and the least from Abnegation. They also crave power and they brainwash people, like all factions do. Will and Eric both come from there...

If I say anything positive about Erudite, Tris will riot.

I squeeze her shoulders and guide her beside me. "Tris, babe, calm down, I don't want to stab you," I say instead.

Tris and I lay on the bed while I line her eyes with eyeliner. She still flinched and averted her gaze from the thin pencil and all the accessories I gave her.

"I still don't understand how you  _don't_ like makeup?" I say, laughing. I've done this so many times over the two weeks that she has to accept it now.

"In Abnegation, they would talk about makeup as too self-indulgent," she whispers. "I don't hate your... experiments, though..."

"Shut up, you love this," I grin when I show her the mirror. Her face brightens and she looks happier.

She looks like a new person, she always says. I think she's already noticeable but she doesn't know some of the eyes that follow her when she walks into a room or whispers of her valor. Quite sad when you think about it.

Just to say it, I smile. "You look wonderful. Is that why you didn't have burgers?"

Tris laughs and it's almost a new sound I haven't heard in a while. "It's a new personal favorite," she chuckles.

I grin at that. Moving to Dauntless was a good thing. "Eventually, you'll be doing this on me, alright?"

"What?" she asks sharply. "I don't know the difference between any of this," she gestures to my makeup and shakes her head.

"The secret is that  _no girl_  does. You fake it till you make it and look awesome while trying," I tell her.

Her eyes drift back to the mirror clutched in her hands. "It doesn't feel bad like my parents said it would- makeup, food that isn't peas, chicken, and rice..." she smiles, not too tense anymore. "It's quite nice..."

"My dad would say you've been driving home and livin' life with one headlight," I say. She looks confused and I continue. "No makeup. No heels. No partying. No ice cream... how did you survive?"

I never said that Abnegation was my cup of tea. The way they live is quite sad. It's just sad.

When the Abnegation kids were near, they had the personality of beige... They never smiled. They never laughed. Hell, they never spoke. Their clothes are gray and gigantic... Sure they're not selfish but... I think it's dumb to keep themselves from pleasures... Maybe some people are good- simplistic in their nature and desires but I wouldn't survive. I couldn't.

Noticing my distaste and my sympathetic expression, she opens her mouth. "Abnegation wasn't terrible," she says honestly.

"I know, I know," I shrug, putting a cap on the eyeliner pencil.

Terrible... doesn't seem right.  _Lonely_  is better.

"Did they tell you... you weren't beautiful?" I say. She doesn't seem to think she is and that wounds me.

She doesn't answer right away. "We weren't meant to think of that," she tells me quietly.

There was just a line of boyfriends who would honestly just like the exposed sexualized parts of me. My skin was always exposed- my friends said that if guys like you, you are beautiful which is not true. It made me feel valuable and valued when guys liked me. Now I like me for me and screw whatever guys say...

"You're very pretty, Tris. I'm not saying you should strip in front of all the Dauntless boys but I'm saying you should own it..."

She just sighs and lays on her back, horizontal on the bed at the head of her mattress. I put my head on her stomach and lay down, my feet on the metal post of her bed.

We stare at the ceiling. "You've grown up splendidly, I must say," I compliment her.

"I never thought I would end up here, in Dauntless with friends and makeup and beef..." she whispers. "You're my first friend... ever."

I bite my lip to not  _gasp._ Sad but good. I feel bad for avoiding her but I like being around her. She's good, too and she doesn't act like I'm crazy or loud or stupid. Well... not all the time. She also lets me do this with makeup.

"It is my honor, a privilege to know you," I tell her.

"You too," she responds after moments of silence. "You're never afraid of being brave..."

"Brave?" I wince.

"You say what you want when you want and that's brave," she explains briefly.

"That's a compliment Miss-I-stood-in-front-of-a-knife-target you," I joke.

She laughs. "Honesty is bravery..."

"Very much so," I say. I wonder why she's so uncomfortable with people.

"Have you ever kissed someone and regretted it?" I ask randomly.

"No," she says, blushing. "I haven't kissed anyone  _period_."

Hmm. I wonder who she'll choose as a partner. "Oh. My first kiss was-"

 _Peter_ _._

That makes me choke on my tongue. I can't say that. Damn it. So I tell some of the truth; "Some Candor boy I don't recall. It was taken from me, I remember. Probably second grade..."

"So young," she gasps, laughing.

I shrug. "If you get yours, tell me," I say. "We eventually have to get married and all that jazz. You'll be my first bridesmaid, kay?"

"You'd be mine too," she says.

"All of our choices are so limited, God,"

She laughs and I sigh. "You'll keep up with me and Will and Al, right? We'll all laugh about this in our twenties and beyond and with kids and whatever..." I ask.

She nods and I hold out my pinkie finger. "Get a Dauntless tattoo with me so it's cemented. You'll keep with me."

She holds out her pinkie finger and I smile. "I'll keep with you," she promises.

It's a promise as we hold each other's pinkie fingers.

It feels like the start of something beautiful. Something ugly. Just... something.

* * *

-End Chapter-

 


	12. Kisses

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 12-  
Kisses

* * *

I'm going to lose it.

On day two of simulations, I was alright. Then I hold back and I have no idea why I have to.

My cheeks weren't covered in tears this time but the metal of the chair chews me down to the bone. I hate that stupid chair! I hate it more than my fears itself. I always find myself clawing out of the chair.

My body is always hot and my teeth chatter. I was burned out of my house. Again. I've always been afraid of fire and the smouldering fire licks at my skin, an undesirable ghost of heat pressing against my skin. I need something cold. Something cold and freezing to remind me I'm still alive.

God. Fuck.

I'm always sweating so I press myself to the chill of the wall. The blizzard that bites at my skin is welcomed.

I'm gulping for air and I crouch down, nice and easy. I need to shiver. Feel that blizzard. Feel that snow. The wall is solid and cold, I'm alive. I didn't burn down with the house.

After a few minutes, Four stares at me, elevated from sitting on the chair and me shivering.

"It's just a simulation, Christina," he reminds me. "It's not real..."

I ignore him and he stares at me, wanting to say something but he doesn't. He's all scowls and awe and wires as he looks, brows furled.

He looks back at the monitor. He's staring at me like I did something wrong.

"What?" I ask, my voice hoarse. It feels hoarse from all the screaming.

"Nothing," he says quietly.

With the way he's observing me like a specimen, I could tell it wasn't anything.

It was definitely something.

After that, I take a long shower. Shockingly cold water then scalding hot water, to help me get over whatever happened. I eat breakfast, numb and panic strikes me at unbiased times. No discrimination. When I am eating, when I am in bed, when I wash my hands, when I am laughing- it's like I have no air.

Al is different. We laid on the floor of the training room, staring at the ceiling, sorry for ourselves. He doesn't even answer me anymore. He just mutters to himself in his delusion. God, it's hard.

He did not even notice when I left and I sigh, not coming back.

Grapefruit was in the cafeteria and I burst into Eric's apartment where he was working and broke half of it, eating it with him at the counter. Like cereal. It's the only thing that doesn't taste like sawdust.

The only thing that fixes me are the jokes Eric tells me and sucking tremendously at this fear thing. I feel like I held back in a way. I knew what was happening and I... I stayed being tortured. It hurts.

It makes me mad at him. I could sit around and feel the time pass and I can't change anything. I could if I wanted to but I don't. I should have. I don't.

The second day, I struggle with my breathing as I think soot and dust are locked in my lungs. My simulation ended with the trademark burning in the house and killing my family and moths getting into my clothes and skin. My back is drenched with sweat and my heart jumps in its cage, wanting to run away.

My body is pressed against the wall. It's cold and the wall saves me from overheating. My fears get under my skin, to my core. Fuck.

Four still stares at me, confused. "Why didn't you leave the simulation?"

What? I play dumb. I don't answer.

"You could have been out in record time... You slowed your heartbeat but you stayed... and thought of your other fears," he explained harshly. "Why?"

I just look at him. "I'm a scared girl, Four. Fears consume me,"

They don't. I have to lie, though. More torture. God. I hate this. I get out of the room before he could question me any farther.

Will eats elsewhere and I feel sort of bad. Peter just snarls and it sucks. I feel bad. My fears make me irrational and mean. My lack of sleep gets to me. With Drew there and no one doing anything about Edward just gets to me.

Will and I haven't spoken since dinner when I got my Dauntless tattoos, two days ago. He called me over sympathetic and asked if I had the guts to kill for a real cause and I shake my head.

"Maybe if you weren't such a fucking robot you'd care about real issues that don't concern yourself!" I remember saying. No... shouting. Everyone heard me and he left the dinner table before I had the chance to.

Then I storm off.

I get to Eric later on, who catches me after dinner. I try to pass him, off to bed but he catches my arm and drags me in the shadows. I just say I need to be engulfed with water and he takes me to the roof. It's raining.

Thank goodness.

I don't let a drop go to waste. It soaked my clothes and I no longer felt burnt out or like I'm dead. I feel the rain and embrace the anguish. The rain is on my skin, in memories and it ravages my clothes.

I used to hate the rain but now I am in love.

I hate that I have to lag behind... I hate it.

I'm shivering. The lights are dimmed and it amplifies the cold of this Dauntless pit. Tris is asleep and Al is doing the same. I don't know why I'm up. Maybe the fears make me hate everything and sleep is just a theory. I've taken a million showers and it still feels like I am hot.

Will sighs and watches me eat. I pointedly ignore him until muffin rolls my way and I don't touch it.

"If you don't eat it, it'll go to the dogs outside. They'll throw it out," he tells me, sitting across from me.

He's talking to me. Even after all the things I've told him. Even after all the things he's said, he's sliding across from me, in pursuit of peace. He's so much better than me.

"Maybe the dogs deserve it more than me," I tell him wryly.

"Huh? Don't say that," he says.

I look up. He's all tired and he doesn't have the shine. Maybe I took away that shine. I feel awful. "They do," I protest.

"Don't be dramatic," he scoffs.

I snag my tooth in my lips so I don't say anything wrong or mean or Christina-like. "I hurt you," I whisper silently. "I should have known better."

"Proof of feelings, eh," he says.

I wince and continue poking at my food. I sigh, cold and teeth chattering. He shrugs off his sweatshirt and gives it to me, around my shoulders. As he drapes it across me, his hands squeeze my shoulders and I wonder if he's still mad at me.

I give him a small look and I feel warmth lapse around me and the moment stretched on forever.

"Why?" I ask simply.

He purses his lips and fiddles with the sleeve of his dark undershirt. "You know, for some reason, I don't like being angry with you. It's strange not to talk to you or laugh with you," he says honestly. "And I want to say-"

I just feel my guilt eat me up. "William..." I apologized. "You're honestly not going to apologize for it. Don't do that."

He stares at me for a moment and looks down. "I wasn't going to but maybe I should care more about Tris but I really care about you, C,"

The look in his eyes was so brilliant, they blazed though they were green and I've never felt so guilty. I can't bring myself to tell him back like I do care about him... I didn't know what to say and he was staring resolutely at the tabletops.

He perks up, "I didn't know what would happen to you if you... went about and got involved with Peter and Drew,"

I frown. "I could handle myself," I say softly. "That's why I am here. Why you're here... Why I am not gone yet,"

"You could kick my ass in moments, maybe even in a second," and he snaps for emphasis, "but I'd rather have you safer. Something is going on in this Dauntless pit and we shouldn't get involved. It's dangerous but it hasn't taken shape or form or name... We could look into it, together in another time, alright?" he looks up and nods three times. "Alright?"

I nod. Something is going on. With Eric telling me to lag behind and Hugh and Four telling me not to get involved in the war and everything else... I can't believe that he sees it too. I thought I was... the only one.

There is something wrong with Dauntless. I grip the jacket he gave me. It smells like him; safety and niceties.

"You can't do adrenaline-filled things..." he tells me softly. "I know you're a thrill seeker but you're also the most developed person I've ever met and I didn't want you to get cut or... get an eye cut out; It's dangerous to be curious, we don't have time for it but you..." he finishes with a sardonic tone. I look up when he says, "You've got pretty eyes and with that, you shouldn't live because of two jerks."

"They are jerks," I agree. I think of the horrors and shudder.

"You've got pretty eyes, you do," he tells me again.

"It'd be a shame if I couldn't see you," I smile, thinking it was arbitrary and fleeting.

His foot brushes mine under the table and I freeze then lightly touch mine to his. That little game of footsies makes him smile a bit.

"You're good-natured and kind. Almost the opposite of me..." I say and drop my gaze to the net pattern of the tabletop. "You're not a robot... You never could be. I was just rude."

"Robotic is a poignant but odd choice of words,"

"Will... I," I try to say.

"No... It's that all Erudite are robotic and efficient without the cloud of emotions," Will says. "My family... tells me we're robotic but I'd like to think otherwise. Clear and mechanical is the way they wanted me to be. And Cara, my sister, wanted to change the world by being prodigious and I was just another number... We do some great things but we have no sympathy and we make little of other people's accomplishments. Me as holistic and logical, I think it's important to feel emotion when there could be numbers and such. Statistics and labs ruled me but... I think I could joke and laugh without an experiment involved or a surgery. I don't know, until you brought it up, maybe... I thought I succeeded,"

"You did," I say. "You're feeling. You make me feel things... I don't know, man, I messed up and told you mean things..."

He puts his hands on the table and I reach over, hands-on hand, like normal. Like it's supposed to be.

Like I should.

I smile. "I think you're doing quite well, my dear William," I say sincerely.

We stay like that, smiling and filled with anguish and hurt while I didn't want to break the moment by eating anything but my stomach growls and he grins.

"So... you sure there's no monster?" he asks.

I shake my head. "None."

I look at my food and sigh.

"You don't eat anymore, I've noticed," he tells me.

I could hear his consternation and him caring. It hurts more than a razor down my throat.

"Wanna eat with me now?" he asks me.

I stand up and take his hand. "Let's go eat somewhere else, alright?"

He nods and we walk towards the chasm as we eat some fries and burgers. I never wanted to be there with him as we held hands and it oddly felt happy. And my fears were slowly ebbing away.

* * *

I've gone through like three days of the fear landscape.

If food has a taste, I can't feel it bursting on my tongue anymore. If sleep has any meaning, I have and get no rest. When I take a bath, I'm dreaming of death. Every time I do the simulation, I feel myself losing any traces of happiness and being.

Eric passes me the ball and sighs. He's reclined in his chair flicking through channels on his TV. I know he's annoyed of me complaining about life and the cycle of everything. I can't help but do it.

Eric pushed me into his room when I specifically b-lined my way out of his sight. For the past three days, I've had to calculate my average and do other quizzes from Erudite, which annoyed me a lot. Why should I do Math and science when I'm finished with school?

After crunching the numbers in my head, I tell him what I've been thinking about for the past few minutes. "So my average time in the simulation is... 13 minutes," I say.

That's so low and long. Fuck. I feel like kicking something. He's throwing a small orange ball the size of an apple. All this stress is making me do laps around his stupid apartment while we talk about simple things.

He shakes his head. "Wrong," he laughs.

"But I did the math- without a Calculator and it's not wrong," I protest.

"Precision is key," he responds simply, tossing the ball back at me. "Precision is the difference between life or death."

Precision? Fuck him. This is stressful. The walking, the talking, the catching and the math all at the same time.

"Fine!" I think for a moment then spit out, "13 minutes and 26 seconds,"

He just nods and seems satisfied. I fiddle with the ball in my hand and walk purposely away from him and his line of sight. God. I don't know why he's keeping me here! It'd be way better if I were allowed to freaking leave.

Simulation or not, I hate myself for being scared of everything...

Eric glares at me and my muttering to myself. "Stop pacing, you're making me nervous," he snaps.

"The great Eric gets nervous?" I sneer, not stopping.

"Yeah. Sit down," he tells me, voice like hard gravel.

"No!" I say.

He shakes his head at me. "I am trying to help you," he replies. "Just cooperate."

"Maybe it's not working," I say. "I'm getting edged out of the rankings and I can't help but think that you like seeing me in pain!"

"That's not true," he tells me angrily.

A feeling goes through me, cold and neutral. "I don't believe you."

He sees my belligerent expression and he grits his teeth. "I could kick your spoiled ass out of my apartment," he suggests.

"Do it! Maybe I shouldn't even listen to you!" I growl back with my own glare. "I won't have to take orders..."

"I'm not surprised by a Candor not listening or arguing," he yawns, annoyed.

"I'm purposely doing terribly but I feel like I have an aspect of control and completion but I freak myself out! I get chills when I think of them."

"Repress that and you'll get your desired outcome," he shrugs.

"This is the outcome! You say that I'm in danger because of my personality but that's a fucking lie!" I say, raising my voice. "The only danger around here is you! You have the power to stop me from continuing my initiation and end me."

"Don't you think I would have ended you if I wanted to?" he asks, every word snarled and sarcastic.

Those words make me feel as cold as December. The dichotomy between us is staggeringly scary. He's a leader. I'm a lowly initiate. He's wildly strong. I'm weak. He's a solid man while I am just a frilly girl yelling at him.

He could have gotten rid of me ages ago. He didn't. Now it's something he holds over my head.

My hands are in a tight fit and the rubber of the orange squeaks under my grip. "You're unbelievable," I say.

"You would have been floating in the chasm-"

"Because of you!"

"No. Because of other Dauntless leaders who don't like the smart-ass, multi-faction belonging girls."

"Why didn't you just let me float? I would've pretended it were a swimming pool, bastard!"

"What's wrong with you?" he rolls his eyes.

"Don't you dare roll your eyes. I mean it."

His mouth settles into a scowl. "Don't say things like that, initiate."

"Why do you care about  _me_  so much?!"

"I have to know of the initiates I'm dealing with," he says quietly.

"You're not handling or dealing with anyone... As far as I concerned, we mean nothing." I snarl.

That makes him stop cold. His jaw sets and his darkening eyes as he suddenly springs out of his seat. He reminds me of a leopard getting ready to strike.

"Actually, I don't believe you," he says, his voice so husky and low.

"What? We mean nothing!"

"I don't believe you," he repeats again.

He approaches me, every step pushes me farther and closer to the wall trapping me there. Fuck. His arms at the side of my head boxes me in again.

"You want to know why I don't believe you?" he demands, voices low and beside my ear.

I feel hot. "Why?" I yell.

"Because of this!"

And his lips crash onto mine and time stops.

He tastes like cigarettes and the odd sweetness of the grapefruit we had from earlier.

At first, I am limp- unfeeling until what's happening.

The kiss. This kiss. Uh. It tastes like one hundred and one lightning bolts coursing through my veins. Butterflies were fluttering, dangerous. He's kissing me and my mouth moves on its own accord. I'm tasting him, inviting him to go deep. My hands rake in his hair and he's groaning into my mouth.

He squeezes the space just under my ribcage until his hands on my waist, pushing me close against him. His chest was hard and solid against me. His hands reach down to my ass and he squeezes, I gasp and his tongue slides in.

He finally pushes away after my lungs burn and burn, demanding for air. He traces kisses up my neck. He could feel my pulse speed up and hammer against my chest and the small murmurs of approval.

He stops kissing my neck, cute and sexy before I unconsciously let out mewls of disapproval.

"Christina, you're a fucking liar because that's why," he pants, his breath brushing my lips.

"Me? A fucking liar?" I say.

My mouth is wet. It was encased in the wet centre of his mouth with his hands around my waist, with hands on my ass. His lips seem so... inviting. I clap my hand over my mouth, realizing what he just called me and what we just did.

And he just called me back to reality. Our reality. The one where Christinas don't kiss Erics without deadly consequences.

I push him away and shake my head. "I need to go," I say slowly.

I start backing away. I need to. I have to.

I should- we shouldn't have kissed. Oh, God. Oh God. We... Oh my God!

"What? Christina," he calls out.

I am gone.

* * *

My body is still hot and I'm pulsing with need, for some reason.

I find myself in the chasm. Why didn't Eric just let me fall into the white of the rushing water? I wouldn't be feeling like this- like I need to kiss him again.

My body still hums with energy as I think about our kiss. My fingers over his collarbone, his palm rough against the curve of my waist... Not finger was out of place.

His teeth, brighter than our future. His voice, enchanting and seductive... Eric kissed me. He literally kissed me and me- I kissed him back. Like I wanted to for the past few days.

I'm concerned that my lips are swollen from his ministrations.

But there are other people whose minds aren't consumed by Eric. Like Four. Out of the clear blue, I notice his reproachful expression sawing into my concentration.

"What did you think about the fear landscapes?" Four asks me.

"It was awful," I pant. Talking to Four also makes my energy deplete. "Fears maybe do consume me."

Maybe Al was normal and we were just... weirdly defiant and unfeeling. Al looked wrecked. Maybe the strong are the ones who know when to be weak.

"You weren't frozen with fear. You waited. You knew..." Four says suddenly.

"It would end. It had to," I say honestly.

He just frowns, brows drawn in together and corners of his lips turned down.

"Are you... purposely staying in your simulations?" he asks me.

I could barely breathe and something heavy in my stomach burbles like magma in a restless volcano. Four's persistent stare on my face is just unsettling.

"No," I say.

"You're a bad liar," he tells me.

I look away. "What does it matter to you? I'm going to get kicked out of Dauntless since all the trainers seem to dislike me."

Eric likes me too much.

"I don't dislike you," Four says, awkwardly shifting in his spot.

I look at him. What? He doesn't dislike me? Me? The one Candor who made fun of his name, watched and forced to hold my hand? Aw. Fuck.

I'm oddly endeared. Why doesn't he hate me?

Does Eric hate me? Eric kissed me. His wet mouth kissed me. And told me he didn't believe me. Fuck. Why am I thinking about Eric?!

Why won't my stupid brain stop with these stupid thoughts and such?!

We stay in that silent awkwardness for about a minute. I don't have the focus or courage to say anything else. Do I want to say anything else? Should I watch the volcano explode?

"Changing- essentially shortening and lengthening simulations is... That's manipulating the simulation," Four tells me with a sense of urgency in his voice.

It's different than his usual stern, hard-ass voice but it doesn't alarm me. Concern- not urgency. It was concern hidden in those vibratos.

"So?" I say, waiting for an explanation.

His slender lip is parted and he looks like he's about to explain something... My stomach churns. God. Waiting is the worst.

"So... Christina, keep on doing that," he tells me and walks away.

* * *

I want to think about the future of me in this Dauntless pit of mine but I can't. All I can think about is Eric and his lips and his hot body and his stupid, stupid muscles. I can't even focus without thinking of his hands on me...

I want it. So badly. I can't want him.

But I want him. I want him so badly. I take a hot shower, standing there with no idea of how to act around him.

Cold showers are just uncomfortable and I'm just waiting on the tingliness on my body to disperse. I lean my head on the tile, the steam all over the place and it's all over my body.

Of course, I've had multiple guys do sexual things with me and it felt good but not as good as this.

I've kissed many people, I've never been so turned on by a guy like Eric. He's terrifying and... He's just really scary.

When I get out, I stare for a while until I go back to the dormitory. The atmosphere is literally so foggy and serious, I wait a few minutes before entering. It's swelling with people and it seems that black jackets with tasers are electric blue and animated.

People don't seem boisterous and untamed; they are surprisingly silent and worried. I see Molly crumbling to the floor, tears wet and face red. All the other initiates and Dauntless-born are quiet but smirking a bit. All but Molly are pleased.

A wall of muscle and limbs keep me from seeing the direct situation but I fight my way through.

"What's going on?" I ask, settling beside someone in the crowd.

"Punishment and retribution," A deep, rich voice rumbling with authority tells me.

I am startled and I jump, braving a neutral face. "Leader Max," I quiver.

I've never spoken to him or seen him since the first day of initiation. He was always like some Gothic myth to us transfers. The Dauntless-born say he's kind of like that drunken uncle who makes you uncomfortable with how ripped and dangerous he is.

And I am standing right beside him. Fuuuuckkkkk! Why me?

Max's mountainous, with dark cocoa skin and a light buzz cut. He wears are all black and his eyes blister with satisfaction.

"Hello Christina," he nods curtly and steps forward.

"You know my name?" I squeak.

He smiles, chuckling. "Eric has spoken a lot of you. You show a lot of promise. Perhaps we could chat in private, though."

What the hell Eric? Why would he do that to me? My hands feel heavy and burnt and my arms are like razor blades at my sides.

"Will do," I gulp.

Then I see it; Drew in handcuffs surrounded by black army boots. He's getting strung up, handcuffed.

"You missed my speech but we saw some concerning matters within the fear landscape of Drew. He has shown that he was the perpetrator who committed assault against Edward. He will be banished from Dauntless and his time and initiation will be terminated."

I stand taller. He's convicted? Now?

Tris and I look at each other from across the room. There's panic swimming in the blue eyes of hers.

My eyes then search for Eric's because he might have had a hand in this weird scheme but he isn't even fucking here. Where is he? In recovery? Jerking off? Having bagels and coffee and complaining about his tattoo artist wife Silva? I don't know. That soothes me since he isn't here but I don't have any direct link to information about the higher-ups.

Has he ever told me anything ever about the happenings of scary people like Max? Like the Erudite.

What do we even talk about? I can't remember our arguments. Anyway, Drew is being convicted for stabbing someone's eye. I think that's nice.

Then he gets dragged away. Molly cries into Peter's shirt as he sighs soothing words into her stringy, dirty hair. Hearing her grieving for a person who is alive displaces my gut.

I look at Max. "Er, sir, what are you going to do with Drew?"

Max give me a suspicious side glance. Like my head is too big for my body. It's kind of awful.

"Have a nice night, initiate. See you around," Max smiles kindly before marching out of the room.

That makes me so fucking worried. I don't want to see Max around. I don't want to at all.

It seems like everything will be alright. My tattoo stops aching, my lips are numb and I am out of shock. I just let a lot of good feelings fizz in my stomach.

Ah. Everything, if not momentarily, goes smoothly despite not have a paved road. Justice prevails. Easy cruising.

Seeing Drew, hours later, completely free and uncuffed makes me question Dauntless, the sincerity of everyone's words and the twisted justice system.

Al and I linger outside of the Dauntless dorm room, looking haggard.

"Why is he back? He's a piece of trash. Who stabs people in the eye. What the hell?" I pace, cursing loudly. Spitting rage.

People pass by and stare but I don't care. I'm pissed. I'm trying to release my anger through articulating them verbally but my rage won't run its course. I don't think I am ever going to get over this and not be mad.

That scum is going to train with us! Us. Drew got a free pass and even Al's on his fucking team and they're playing corrupt games with corrupt wins.

Al rolls his eyes a bit. "Christina-"

"Don't say I'm being crazy. They didn't have any fucking repercussions for stabbing out a guy's eye. Edward's gone, Myra is gone too and who knows who else is next?!"

"Christina... Maybe he isn't guilty."

"Huh?" I walk up to him, every step infused with tension and anger. Is he some sort of stupid? What is wrong with him? "What the hell do you mean he didn't do it?"

Unaffected by my outward aggression, he nods and lowers his head. "Max, Eric and all the other Dauntless leaders inspected him. I dunno, interrogated him. He's clean and he got released."

How naive could Al get?! Drew didn't get so much as a slap on the wrist. It was like they conducted this investigation for the purpose of pleasing the people with a farce. Why should he believe them after they let him go? Drew's fucking dangerous.

And why does Al trust the leaders, the systems and their mothers so much? Has he not seen what happened to both Tris and I with leaders? Did he care? He's seen the violence we underwent just being here... We simply existed here, at the wrong time with the wrong faction. Why the hell is he so trusting of them?!

"You trust people too much. My god, Al! We might be killed by these people."

"Hey. Don't think like that. If Drew was released then he wasn't the one who did it."

"What? Was it Peter? A myth? It simply didn't happen? Are you delusional? Have you taken too many shots with the Tooth Fairy?" I yell out.

He looks at me then cracks up. He's leaning against the rocky wall. I know it's cold and uncomfortable and rocks taint your skin. They're colouring your flesh with purplish black dust but Al has gotten some sort of goal to feel. I don't know.

"You always say the weirdest things but I like you." he laughs.

Making me laugh doesn't give Al a pass for being an idiot when it comes to this. I'm angry. Beyond angry.

It's so weird that they kick out Edward. He was a charming, talented, smart good guy. He gets punished for simply being in first place. Why is that? It makes me hurt and think of all the injustices in this goddamn place. Kicking out Edward and keeping a carrot-top, vindictive, violent guy like Drew is a big middle finger to everyone who believes in Dauntless.

My shoulder tattoo, where I have my Dauntless seal, just throbs. I just got it because of Eric. Eric said something about my loyalty to the faction will be tested.

Why not just see where my loyalties are? They're on my body. They're for all to see.

Do I believe in my faction? It's hard to think like this.

"Al. Only the good guys are supposed to have guns and weapons and butter knives." I look up. Not that idiot. Never that idiot.

Fuck.

"Good guys aren't the ones who make it to the top. Good guys aren't the ones who pass in the rankings," he says quietly. "I visited Drew when he was locked up. I talked to him myself. He didn't do it. He's not that bad of a guy."

What... The... Fuck? I can hardly stand his words or his audacity to say them. I wouldn't even look at him the same.

"I understand..." I say with a bittersweet smile.

Some people feed on what's given them, even if the hand hurts them. Others rebel and starve and escape because of their wounds. Al is the former. Fuck. Maybe Al and the entirety of Dauntless just want people who are heartless. The bad guys have guns.

I have a gun. Am I bad?

"You can't be Amity and Dauntless in war. You either have the guts to condemn criminals instead of forgiving them, Al, or you don't. Hm. Good day." I say quietly and I turn on my heel.

"What?" Al asks, voice wobbly.

"Are you Dauntless or Amity, Al? Choose." I whisper. "Forgive or condemn."

I know he hears me because he shuffles on the small rocks. The crunches sound like shots fired. I wonder if he'd think they're the sound of rain or something peaceful.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demands, probably red in the face.

I pause and look over my shoulder. "You were going to choose Amity before you looked to the crowd, hesitated and chose Dauntless to prove something. That's what I mean." I say coldly.

He is red. His eyes are watering. "Christina- everyone hesitated! You. Can't... You can't fault me for that." he clenches his boulder-sized fists and looks down.

"I will and I can! People hesitate at first but not this far into initiation! You can't hold a knife without cringing or save yourself from an attack because you don't want to get hurt. Why'd you even join anyway?"

"Christina-"

"Why'd you even join, Al? To have pity on those like Drew? You can't ignore the reality of this place."

"Christina-" he says with an edge to his voice.

"You aren't farming. You aren't meant to drink fucked up juice- you are in Dauntless with bad people with guns and harsh words! Al, you have to choose Dauntless before no one at all chooses you!"

He pauses and closes his mouth. The sourness in his eyes turns to me. He's shaking, trembling with anger. Is he holding back tears?

My heart hurts. But it's the truth.

"Why are you saying these things? I thought we were friends," he says lowly.

"And friends can't put daisy words in their friends' ears because of feelings. Not me. Not Candor. Not even Dauntless!" I stomp my foot for emphasis.

He finally looks at me and his eyes are bone dry. "What is this? Some kind of sick intervention? Are Tris and Will around the corner? Is Eric, the one you're eye-fucking going to pop out?"

"No. I'm... I'm just worried about you, my Albert." I sigh, all the energy is taken out of me. I've said mean things but... I can't dance around this anymore. It's better if Al takes it now rather than being kicked out.

"You're saying all these personal attacks because you're worried about me?"

I close my eyes. "I want you here, beside me. I want to keep with you but you don't want to keep here. All those tattoos you get, to feel something. I don't know, you act like you don't care."

I hear his jaw lock up. "It doesn't feel like it." he says.

My tone softens up. "I adore you, Al. I really doubt I can't help you if you don't want to get better. You're basically my best friend and I don't want you to not be here because of these hesitations. Doubts. You eventually have to face dark things and you can't turn away from people like Drew."

I feel something get pale and I realized; he doesn't want to change.

I huff through my nose. Does he never want to change? Is he just locked in this thinking that Drew is some kind of superstar?

Drew hurt Edward, he hurt Tris and he terrorizes me but Drew gets a free pass from Al. Why Al? Why does he have to forgive that little bitch and not change his ways?

I'm mad and nervous that he'll leave tonight instead of Drew and it's sick. Really sick.

Fuck. Fuck. My little speech didn't work whatsoever. I can't help him. Idiot. That fool. I don't want to help him. Am I just lying to myself? Am I even allowed to be a friend because I'm doing nothing to help him?

I've confronted him, stated my problem- I wasn't that harsh. I bite back another series of long cusses and screams because nothing will get through that thick skull of his.a

I turn around on my heel. "So long."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry Al but you're being really dumb and I can't tolerate it!" I snap, surging forward.

"Christina-"

"Al- shut the fuck up, I'm going on a walk so I don't physically injure you."

"Don't have to be so rude around it!" he calls out. "He's innocent, I'll prove it in the ratings on the scoreboard. I'll talk to him tonight."

"I can't hear you," I holler.

"You can't just walk away! Christina?!"

Watch me, fool. Enough of that. People just don't want to help. Should I even call him a friend?

Face burning and jaw locked, I round the corner.

Only to bump into the superstar of a dick Eric is. He basically blends into the background of the blue-tinted hallway. His piercings glow like stars and his blue shirt is only slightly ambiguous.

"You-"

"Eric-"

"Magic word."

That makes me shut up. Ah. I know it now; I've been conditioned. But I like him touching me when Eric yanks my arm and I get dragged into the training room. I want to help and scream but- I am not. I am positively staring at my shoes.

"You can't avoid me forever." he says.

I tap my chin, in a pseudo-deep thoughtful state. "Forever is a pretty long time. I'll settle for the next... twenty-four years."

I try to step aside but he doesn't let me. I don't want to fucking play any games. I'm mad at Al, mad at Drew and now I am going to go inter-continental ballistic if he doesn't move.

Ah. He reaches out, to stop me. I'm hyper-aware of his movements and he brushes a patch of skin. My whole body comes alive. Just with that one brush, I feel it all. He consumes my senses. The nice cologne he put on. The gentle heat he lets off. His tousled curls. His wrinkled forehead and his clean, smooth skin. His biceps are- yummy.

He looks fucking perfect. I hate it.

Eric leans in. "Don't you want to at least talk about what happened?" he hisses.

"I was sleepy. Stressed. You were there and a temporary fix to all that drama. It was nothing." I hiss back.

His eyes harden like steel. "Why... Why do I get to be punished for wanting to kiss you?" he asks quietly. Desperate.

"It was a mistake. You're levels above me. We can't cross any lines.I have zero dollars to my name. You're Eric, the esteemed Dauntless leader. If it gets out that you kissed me... You'll lose your job and I won't have someone to hate." I put out all the valid reasons why he shouldn't ever touch me.

My whole body turns on when he looks at me and I just- that fucking terrifies me.

"So, now you care about me?" he adds sarcastically.

"Fool! You're being dumb-"

"I highly doubt you'd notice that!" he snaps.

"Shut up, Eric! We can't do this-"

"Do what? Be normal and actually give into the attraction? You don't really care about my title. You don't care about who's on the ground and who's on top, you treat them the same. You didn't care when you gave me a verbal ass-whoopings or when we went drinking. Why is it a thing now? Why are you ignoring this?"

"Ignoring what?"

"Me. This!"

"Eric- I don't know if it's safe to even like you! You get angry and mean and loud and- I... I am just saying that you deserve someone who can take all of this and not bite back!"

"I find your angry attitude endearing. Why else would I respond?" Eric tells me quietly.

I shake my head. "Isn't it safe to pretend I don't like you? Snitches get stitches and people who haven't seen anything at all get to go home and eat pink grapefruit without any worries. I might get kicked out and you have responsibilities."

"I want you to be my responsibility."

"I can't ask for anything like that. I can't depend on anyone else. I can't- I'm sorry."

I rush away, hoping for a voice to stop me and tell me not to. Fuck. But then, I see Four. He's at the doorway with a chalkboard and a pensive expression.

"What are you doing here?" Four asks loudly, his dark eyes darting between me and Eric.

With his pursed lips and forever knit brows, I wonder if he's capable of laughing or being happy. But I can't answer his question.

"It's... It's a free world, isn't it? I can go where I want to..." I say quietly.

Aw. Smooth, Christina, smooth. He's so demanding and exacting in all of his actions. It made me shift. I can't say that I kissed Eric and I regret it but- I don't. I don't. I have no ground to back up that fact but I don't regret it.

Four watches me neutrally. "Okay?"

I look away, fiddling and nervous. Why can't I communicate?! I am a Dauntless and Candor... girl? Fuck.

"Why are you here, Eric?" Four asks accusingly.

Eric tsks and crosses his arms. "As she said, it's a free world, Four," Eric says loudly. "I don't have to explain when an initiate is being stupid, do I? We would never stop talking, ever."

I suck in a breath. Does he want to go there? He really does? I'll play and I'll yell. Maybe he just can't fucking communicate and that's why everyone has to suffer through his dumb voice and dumb comments and numb lips!

I glare at him. I can't believe I ever kissed that tool. He still wants me apart of his life and me... I want to be a part of it.

"Eric, you can't harass the Dauntless initiates," Four starts.

I give him a pointed look. Ha! But Four continues and I remember he kind of hates me.

"No matter how irritating they can be." Four finishes.

WHY AM I SURROUNDED BY ASSHOLES WITH GOOD, LUSCIOUS HAIR? I positively made enemies. I want to be angry and upset but I am not and I want to care but then I don't.

Eric furrows his brow. "Don't make assumptions, Four. Mind your own business about the Candor mouth here or the Little, Twitchy Stiff. I will present the rankings, by the way."

"No problem," Four says through clenched teeth.

It seems like there  _is_ a problem.

Four tenses up as Eric brushes his shoulders on his way out. He slams the door. I drop my shoulders and I have no fear. The control leaves me and I shake my head. Why is he so rude?

I thought he would have a shit-eating grin and just beam when Four insulted me. Covertly. He was more angry than happy and that showed me something I couldn't recognize. I wanted to know why it was so significant.

Four's still serious and loud in his want for answers. He stares at me. I won't answer any questions and he won't ask anything, so that's something. The question of why I was here, alone with Eric hangs over me like a sword with dripping venom.

I blink away some emotion. It's the elephant and I feel like talking about spaceships and glasses and cheetas. Anything other than Eric. He knows Eric made me upset but... he doesn't know why.

I shove my hands into my pockets. "Who's... the Little, Twitchy Stiff?" I whisper as I stand awkwardly.

"Tris, your friend. He likes giving sick..." he coughs and shifts on his feet. "I mean... interesting names to initiates."

Eric has so many faults. I facepalm, taking offence for the nickname he gave Tris. Why does everyone pick on her?! Why does he want me? I'm horrible to him. I annoy him on purpose, I get angry and I am so desperate for him.

It's so annoying and desperate. Besides, being his girlfriend with this huge disparity between us is insane. Almost borderline suicidal.

"So am I Candor mouth?" I clear my throat.

"No. He said you would be a black pearl if... you shut up and remained a clam." Four shrugs.

I perk up. Black pearl? The room pulls in, getting hot and my face burns.

"Really?" My voice cracks a little. I swallow that emotion. "That's..." beautiful. "so  _creepy_."

Four huffs. "Tell me about it," he looks at the chalkboard. "You have a knack for being in the training room before the important things, don't you?"

I shrug. "I guess so. I know where to win, so I come here."

He looks at me for an extra second. He's debating whether or not to tell me something. "Yeah, I want to calculate the scores and the averages."

"Ew. All that math. I've always thought that the Erudite made super duper awesome computer laptop calculate gadgets. Why can't you use a laptop?"

He rocks on his heel, naturally thinking of what I said. "The computers have been making mistakes lately, so it's better to complete by hand."

That's weird. Erudite technology and computers are the blood and pride of Erudite and they fucked that up? That's all they brag about.

"Ouch," I echo, my hand aching for some reason. Just thinking of all that math makes me sad and angry. "I've never been too hot at math."

He scratches the back of his neck. "Me neither," he lets out his breath and it sounds kind of like a vacuum.

I eye him for two seconds. "I thought you were good at everything," I say lowly. He finally joined us mortals down on earth from heaven. Wow. "That you were... supreme."

We stare at each other for a moment and I realize that I said something and went too far. Me and my big mouth. Stupid! Stupid! This wasn't Candor anymore- I couldn't just say what I wanted.

Maybe I didn't offend him because he's looking at me weirdly and the pink is there. That heat and just faint redness. I gasp, a little soothed. My heart stopped hiccuping. I didn't offend him- I made him flattered! I made him blush! Wow.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Christina," he nods then walks away.

I smile to myself. I'll make him be so red, it's so funny. I already always make Eric red since he's constantly yelling or in bouts of anger because of me and my pretentious ways.

I laugh a bit and walk away.

"Christina-" he suddenly calls out to me.

I turn around. "Yes?"

"Eric, he isn't... doing anything to you, right? If he is or is starting to, er, then tell me."

I laugh. Tell him? About my problems with the man who only has one emotion: tease Christina Orphelia Murillio until she feels like crying? He doesn't want t now. I don't want to tell him that we kissed. He would report it to the big guns like Max and I don't ever want to be in that man's proximity ever.

Eric... just has this stop/start nature about him and I can't undo someone's nature. I can't take it away without breaking his fragile, beautiful mind.

My eyes burn a little as I squint at him. I just realized that leaders or trainers or instructors- whatever Four does... they're meant to help us. Me. People like me. He hasn't ever helped me and now he wants to be nice and cozy and close? It makes no sense. The guy makes me angry. Seething, nose-bleeding pissed off but also a little sad.

I swallow a bit, the red of his blush fading as he sets down his chalkboard. "Why are you so mean to me?" I ask quietly.

His eyes widen a moment before he recovers. His Adam's apple bobs uncertainly. "Huh?"

I nod and ball up my fists in my shallow pockets. "You... heard me- why?" I ask tiredly.

"I'm like this with all initiates. I hate them all equally too. Initiates are easy to lose, especially Dauntless initiates with how vigorous the program is. You can't get attached."

I perk up. Detachment is the way to go when training. "Thanks," I murmur.

"Did that satisfy you?" he asks loudly.

I shrug. "Kind of? I want to teach people in the future but I want to be scary then I also want to make them respect me enough to follow my instructions. You know?"

"You think I'm scary?" he scoffs. "I couldn't find my fangs and copious amounts of fur today, sorry."

"So disappointing. You're not scary but you could smile more."

"Monsters have scary, fanged smiles, would you like to see that?"

I laugh a bit. "Then- you know, I guess I can have a drink with you."

"I don't drink." he says quickly.

"You don't? What about when you complimented Tris?" I tease.

"I wouldn't ever drink with you, correction."

"I'll change your mind one day, instructor." I say loudly. I slyly walk out, ignoring the look on his face.

As I round the corner, I realize that my heart was racing and I press myself against the  _freaking wall._ I was flirting with Four!

Urrrrghhhh. Why would I do that?!

I ignore it and wait for the slots and results from the second rankings from stage two.

* * *

-End Chapter-


	13. Friendship

 

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 13-  
Friendship

* * *

The results came in and I took one look and knew- this was going to be bullshit. But I didn't know Eric would hurt me this much! THAT asshole. What? 7th place? WHAT THE HELL? Will stares at the board with Four's curly writing also undoing our life and our place at the fucking Dauntless center. The darkness of curse words and awful images fill my head.

Seventh place literally haunts me and I can't handle just not being good at this. I have this! I used to have this! I used to be good. I was in third place. I was- I wasn't a failure.

Am I everything my mother said? Am I not Dauntless? I can't put away my fears and I can't rise in the ranks to become anything. It's not the best but it's also like I'm being fed rat poison.

I look down and see that not only am I seventh, but fucking Tris also is at the top and Al is last... In the last slot. Oh my God! Tris is at the top? Why is Tris always better than me? Damn this place.

And fucking AL too? I feel like a storm is coming in and I can't find any shelter! Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

Will looks at me. "You did well."

"Not well enough," I grumble.

I see Eric and his passion for piercings. I want to tear him into lots of different shreds of madness. When I look at him, Eric smiles graciously. A mocking, sly expression.

Seeing my acute distress, Eric playfully tosses a stick of yellow chalk in his hand up and down. "Congratulations Candor, you won't make it," he smirks, catching his weaponry.

I see red. What the hell? I am so angry at him. "What did you do?" I point to his chest and speak slowly.

His piercings are much duller up close. He is much more snarky and vindictive- like he was when we first talked.

"Er, transfer, I think you're forgetting the first and foremost thing; you chose your spot on the rankings. You decide."

Something gets crushed, like a can in some Dauntless man's knuckle fist. "What? You made me-"

"I didn't make you do anything that wasn't out of your own volition. How could I take away your choices? Your well-being, your life isn't my responsibility, remember?" he taunts. He smiles a bit.

That hits me. Like guts me. Did the last three weeks not matter? Did I not matter? Why was he treating me like garbage? I just don't want to ruin his career and he gifts me with these words? He means all of them.

"Between the choice of third and seventh place, a higher average or lower one... Someone, me or you perhaps chose the wrong slot to accidentally put your name in. Looks like you chose to lose." Eric says.

"Is this because I wouldn't kiss you? You are so freaking immature."

He purses his lips, irritation threading all of his words. "Why would it be about that? None of us want you. I don't want you."

That makes my eyes burn a bit. I guess I can't have it all the same time. I'm still losing. I keep on losing a lot. I get flashbacks to when we were in his room, him being a bitch and just ruining my day. He made me hold back. He made me be lesser than I was.

His eyes- he seems to swim in joy and he's... He's being truthful. And I wonder if this is the real Eric. Rude, sarcastic and sadistic. He isn't warm. He's just rude.

"Fine..." I say slowly. "I won't bother you."

"That would be the best initiate," Eric nods stiffly.

He doesn't even call me Rookie anymore. I stumble over my words. I can't articulate myself properly through the hate. "Uh. Did you change my numbers-"

"It's not that. You just suck. Dauntless doesn't want to choose you and neither do I."

I'm suddenly lost for words. Ouch. Fuck. Ouch. I turn on my heel and climb onto my bunk bed, ignoring how he's watching me. I get a pillow from my top bunk, breathing into it. Can I kill him? Am I allowed to?

This pillow doesn't feel like his perfumed, soft, creamy skin- his skin isn't creamy? Right? I can cop a feel.

Arghhh. I'm going to be edged out. Damn it. Damn it. My breaths don't come easy. What am I going to do? Damn.

Why... Why do I even care? Arrows land and fall onto me. Stinging pain everywhere. I'm getting suffocated by this weight.

He just discarded me. Was he hurt? I hope I maimed him.

He's taken over my mind. I'm losing all self-control and it's Eric. How stupid is that? I let myself get screwed over by a guy.

Tris comes to stand beside Will. "What's going on?" she asks after a long pause.

"Rankings for stage two," he says.

"I thought there weren't any cuts after stage two," she hisses. Her mood goes sour.

She isn't allowed to be sour. She's first. She won. Again.

He gulps his anger and doubt. "There aren't. It's just a progress report, sort of." Will clarifies loudly.

She looks back at the board. Shock washes her expression in horror and joy.

It nauseated me. Why does she get first place? Am I going to get booted out? Fuck. Fuck! I hate my life. Eric just seems satisfied as he struts away.

I watch him go. I can't break down yet. Was this all for nothing? He just ruined me because I wouldn't kiss him.

"Nice job, Tris," Will says quietly.

Tris nods, still gulping. Why isn't she celebrating? Why wasn't she super happy?

I hate the world. I want to scream into my pillow. Eric just hates me. I hate him. Usually, I feel like we banter and say the most annoying, rude things but it normally isn't for truths. He genuinely disliked me. Like the real hate.

It's tearing me apart. What is wrong with him? What's wrong with me for caring? Damn it.

I press the pillow to my face. The pillow can't actually be the same as the solid feel of his chest. It doesn't replicate the warmth or tension. This is dead. It upsets me too.

"I will not be outranked by a Stiff," I hear Peter say. "How did you do it, huh? How the hell did you do it?"

I only look up when he's inches from slamming her head against the rocky dorm wall. He's breathing like a rabid dog and basically boxing her in with his much larger body.

"Leave her alone," Will pulls Peter off and holds onto his black collar "Only a coward bullies a little girl."

"A little girl?" Peter repeats. He just shoves Will off. "Are you blind, or just stupid? She's going to edge you out of the rankings and out of Dauntless, and you're going to get nothing, all because she knows how to manipulate people and you don't. So when you realize that she's out to ruin us all, you let me know."

Peter glares at him then me and charges out of the fucking dorm. Molly and the returned Drew are left behind. They follow their master.

"Thanks," Tris nods to Will. She's so gracious and she's pretending to be weak or something.

"Is he right?" Will asks quietly. "Are you trying to manipulate us?"

"How on earth would I do that?" She scowls at him. "I'm just doing the best I can, like anyone else."

"I don't know." Will shifts, unconvinced. "By acting weak so we pity you? And then acting tough to psyche us out?"

"Psyche you out? I'm your friend. I wouldn't do that." she insists.

He keeps quiet. I know why. This is ridiculous. She is probably trying to take advantage of us. Just like Eric. Just like Max. I hate everyone. They suck!

And now Tris is just being awful too.

"Don't be an idiot, Will," I get off of my bunk. I look at her one last time. "She's not acting."

I walk out and prance away. I need to slap Eric or something. I need to hit him. Hurt him.

Will finds me in the hallway, really catching up to me. He calls my name a few times.

"Do you really think she's going to edge us out?" he asks.

"I don't know. Maybe we all just get screwed over by the people we care about." I pace back and forth.

I hiss my breath. Do I care- like want Eric to be safe? Am I just lying to myself?! Fuck. He's so wretched. Where do I even begin?

"What were you talking about with Eric?"

"Nothing-" I snap.

"Christina-"

"What, Will?" I ask loudly. "I seriously know that he messed with my results! And- I said those awful things to Tris."

Will looks at me for a long second. "Do you think that Tris is manipulating us?" he asks, his shaggy hair blocking the green of his pretty eyes.

"I don't know, probably not," I sigh.

She's probably a rock, an abnegation stone with her head on tight. She's just able to cope. She doesn't seem as psychotic as Will makes her out to be. I always speak then reflect. That awful feeling of drowning in Dauntless can't ever drought or drain. Will I ever be enough?

"I'm not even sure if we'll be at the top, mentally," Will says, looking at the ceiling instead of my left cheek.

"Can I ever just calm down?" I ask.

I feel all the pain, no high. I think it's strange.

"You have to match your breathing so then you could be in sync," Will instructs. "If you want to be calm, then imagine how a peaceful person breaths in and out. They lift their diaphragm, get all that oxygen and nitrogen and carbon dioxide in their upper lungs and release it after five seconds. It's quite wholesome, to slow your mind."

I listen to him with faint adoration near my heart. "You have a beautiful mind. If I breathe like a smart person, would I be smarter?" I joke.

He laughs. "I don't think it works like that."

A chuckle. "Probably not. I wish."

"C'mon, breath with me," he says. "I want you to calm down."

I started breathing with him but we couldn't synchronize. That made me increasingly sad. For some odd, distant reason we just couldn't get in synch.

He's trying really hard. Opening doors. Bullying me nicely. Flirting. Keeping up with my arguments and mood swings and physical arm swings and punches.

An ache dripped into my core. He really tried hard because he liked me.

All those times he ate with me, all those times he defended me and looked at me in the ways he wasn't supposed to... God. He liked me.

He really did.

For the hand of time to give me something like Will for a short time is quite... quite cruel. For me not to like him was even crueller.

"You matched me?" he asked after a while of audible inhalation.

No. This is when my Candor colours couldn't show. I couldn't break his heart. Hs breathed therapeutically and I just wheezed and/or had mini panic attacks. I can't tell him the truth.

"Yeah. You breathe loudly," I whisper, all small.

And I couldn't like this man back. Instead, I chose the sweet serial killer idiot Eric.

"What?" Will asks.

"Nothing."

I kind of want to be smaller. Fold myself into the smallest piece of paper until no one could find me and my guilt. I feel like I have it all when I am in Eric's arms. Our moments are printed on my soul, a movie that plays in my mind.

When Will holds at me, I feel like laughing because of how awkward it is. I just find Will to be a friend giving me support.

I wave my hand. "I'm... It's all mental but I'm scared of everything." I settle beside him.

"Pfft. You aren't scared of anything." he declares.

Has he ever taken a stroll through my mind? I am scared of consequences, my mother, black holes and everything in space.

"I can't calm my heartbeat! Even now-"

"I doubt that-" he waves his pointed hand at me.

"Don't doubt-just feel." I reach out and press his hand to my left side of my chest. "See, my heartbeat won't stop!"

We stand there for a few seconds and my mind finally gets... engaged. I'm so, so, so literally dumb.

His eyes are wide, he's quivering and his face is red.

He squeezes a little and I jump. "Uh. Can... Uh, could I let go now?"

I laugh. "Yeah."

We stand there again he slowly lowers. His hands. He looks at me in the eye and turns away. "Yep. I gotta go."

He practically sprints down the hall to get away from me.

It's the first time he's ever touched a girl's boobs. And I am that girl. I fail at everything. I'm cringing internally.

Ahhh. I'm stupid.

I try to recover but I go away. The rest of the night is kind of unconventionally quiet. Will does avoid me a lot and Tris is nowhere to be found, so that's something. I couldn't even bother Al to goad some laughs from my big guy.

Eric isn't even around the corner to torment me anymore. It's lonely. Dauntless can be lonely.

I didn't know that.

* * *

The entire morning was quiet. I went to the training room, hoping to find Eric and punch him or talk but he wasn't there. It was breakfast and I wanted my daily muffin, so I go to the cafeteria.

I'll probably have to sit alone like a loser. I don't know how I am alone here. In Candor, I got on with lots of people. Everyone. Everyone was the same; loud and obnoxious and funny. It made for a great competitive and supportive environment.

Here... It's deadly to be friendly and everyone is so sensitive. When in Candor, you didn't have to worry about being punched. You had to worry about people laughing at your pride and joy; your voice, your arguments or your sentence structures.

Sometimes, I wish that I could read a book again and analyze it sentence by sentence but I can't. There are no books. I'm sure half of the Dauntless don't know how to read.

I drag my feet. Maybe I'll just eat in the dorms. Ew. Crumbs on my bed. I could just brush them off and onto another person's bed. Hahaha. That might work.

Or I'll get punched.

I sigh. That would never work.

I see Will at the cafeteria. He is casual, wearing all black. A long-sleeved shirt and track pants that have gray strips on the sides. His hair have messy rays of sunshine and he's fretting about something dumb. It's probably him just doing math equations in his mind or worry about decimal spots.

I sit on his lap before he could bolt away.

"Woah! Why are you sitting on me?!" Will cries, flapping his arms wildly. He looks like a flightless bird caught in the air.

"Because you could run away and anchoring you is better than both of us ending up in the nurse's clutches!" I hiss.

He blinks, unimpressed. He stops moving. "You would have tackled me... To the floor?" he asks, incredulous and accusing. He's even shaking his head in disbelief.

He tries to move and I chop on his shoulder. "Will! Stay!"

Will freezes. "Huh?"

I pay his head. "Good boy," I smile.

"Don't talk to me like I'm your dog. Get off," he snaps.

Ouch. "No."

We must talk. I don't know why he's so butthurt about yesterday.

"You make everything really hard, Christina," Will growls into my ear.

"It wouldn't be much fun if life were easy, William, now would it?"

"I hate this question but would you get off of my lap? People think you're trying to grind on me."

"Oh, really?" I whisper.

I turn to look at the quiet Dauntless, who are strangely quiet and observant of me and the blushing Will.

"DO YOU ALL NEED SOMETHING?!" I bark.

Everyone who was watching just turns away, grumbling about crazy Dauntless chicks. Some square up for a fight but most importantly, people look away, amused.

He just laughs. "You are much too bold." His arm tentatively settles on the small of my back.

I relax a bit. "Was that so hard?" I ask.

Will swallows.

Then, I see Eric. Just when I was enjoying myself, I see the fucking devil in hell wearing red.

I get off of Will's lap, quickly. I'm all burning and ashamed. Sudden pangs of guilt and hurt press over me like a steam roller.

Someone's yelling in his ear but Eric has the perfect look of fury and distaste spread out in his expression. His blood pressure causes a vein to appear on his translucent skin. His muscles are bulging with anger and they hold so much tension.

The line of his shoulders are dropped and his piercings flash at me in warning. He just saw. Will and I... Oh.

He was carrying a styrofoam cup of coffee. He cursed it in the fist he's still holding now. The contents spilled into the ground but Eric's not listening. He's staring straight at me. He's shaking in his rage.

"What's his problem?" Will asks.

My mouth goes dry.

Pick a card. Any card in the deck of Christina Murillio of me... Why was Eric watching me in the first place?

Now I am self-conscious and shit. I breathe against my palm. Yes, my breath smells fresh. Uh, my black skinny jeans are nice. My black crop top exposes my navel. Uh, my hair- aw fuck, did I brush it?!

I can't remember!

Why is he watching me anyway?

We aren't each other's responsibility. We kissed and it was so, so good. It made my insides melt and my guts reorganized themselves just to make way for the pangs of pleasure Eric sent.

"Ignore him," I laugh loudly and lean in close to Will.

Ignore Eric, Christina, ignore him. He's not the pain or pleasure. The pleasure. Oh god. The pleasure.

Will looks at me. "You okay?"

I snap back to reality. "Yeah. I'm fine." I say too quickly.

Will looks at me for an extra second.

"Why are you so hung up on touching a girl's rack?" I ask so his Erudite gears don't twirl away.

It works. His cheeks immediately get red. "It's just inappropriate."

I judge him. "We're friends. Right? Who cares?"

"We're only friends... I forgot."

I bonk his head. "Stop that and tell me... Oh. Oh. I get it, now! A virgin? Are you?" I ask slowly.

"Are you?" Will looks uncomfortable.

I shrug. "No."

Yes. I lie because I hated that odd hope in his eyes before he started his intruding gaze away.

"Have you been kissed?" I ask lightly.

"Yeah."

"Then you're a base away."

"Stoooooop talking about this!" he fumes. "It's embarrassing!"

"You can't be weird about sex, William. If you must be educated, ask Al or me. We have you covered. We're like your awkward aunt and uncle giving you the "talk"."

"I don't want to be discussing this. It's taboo."

"Taboo, smaboo." I wave it away.

"That isn't even a word!" Will protests.

I poke his nose. "It is too! Hey, who is the Candor here? I got three dictionaries for my birthdate. It's my thing to know words. I could speak like a victorian lassie whose garters got caught in the spinster wheel." I say loudly. "Your quandary shan't be primed by my slight alteration thereafter my reckless accent. Alas, your choices absconded, thrice offered."

He just stared at me blankly then lowers his face into the table's surface. He let out an anguished moan of pain. "Christina!"

I nudge him. "I'm not making this weird, William. You are!"

"You are comfortable with everything!"

"It's a way to live-"

"Politeness is a lifestyle! There are just some things you don't bring up in public places or at the dinner table!"

"You eat at the dinner table with your parents and you discuss labs, experiments, equations and boring calculus with them. You are their progeny. Their creation. Their love child. It must not be that weird to talk about what they've done to create you at the dinner table." I say, all factual and procedural in my tone. If I had glasses, I would have pushed them up the bridge of my nose.

But I don't. So I just settle for looking at his exasperated expression melting holes into the table.

"You don't know any tact," he mutters into his palms. He'd probably suffocate himself if I weren't there.

"People call me Christina Orphelia Murillio Tact, by the way." I wink at him.

He is busy looking frustrated but I manage to crack him a bit. He offers me a smile that vanishes.

"You can have some of my pancakes, Tact." Will offers.

I didn't notice the pancakes.

"Al, Will, you are a gentleman," I say brightly.

"If you are eating, your mouth is filled and you can't speak."

All my enthusiasm melts away. Bastard. He's still too abashed to speak. Well, look at me. Eric is openly glaring at me for touching Will but why does he care?

I pat Will's meaty old shoulder and lean in close. The ball of my nose brushes the line of his chin.

"C'mon. If you tell me what you know, I'll give you a way into my mind. I think th-"

I look over and see Eric's jaw-dropping. I don't understand why until I follow his gaze.

Tris. Holy shit.

She looks awful. She's hobbling and her face looks like the skin of multiple plums have been taped to her cheeks.

Uriah, some pretty boy with copper skin and semi-curly hair slides over onto the table Will and I share.

I squeeze his wrist hard. He is about to protest but I squeeze it again with more force.

Will huffs, "Would you let me alone-"

Will looks up and immediately gasps. He sees what I am seeing. He looks at me, like asking is this real?

I just nod.

I am so angry. So fucking angry. Why would anyone- Oh my god!

I look across the room and Peter is grinning like a madman, happiness radiating over his entire being. Drew isn't here and Molly's also fucking happy I'm ready to do some rounds.

Let's fight. If they want to fight. Let's fight. Let's fight well! Will doesn't seem to notice my burning resolve and just looks at Tris.

In my busy plan for revenge, I fail to notice how Tris sits across from us and Uriah slides beside Tris.

We just stare at her. Uriah's hand twitches like he wants to hold her but he decided against it. Will is too angry to notice just how he's clutching my hand under the table.

"What happened?" Will asks, voice low and blond eyebrows twisted.

"Peter, Drew..." Tris says quietly.

Fucking a. I knew that. That one was easy.

She tries to be casual about it, eating as if she weren't injured. She reaches over the table, to get a piece of toast. It hurts. Badly. She hunches into her side, collapsing a bit. Her elbow hits the table.

I slowly slide over the plate. Just until it touches her red elbow.

She doesn't have enough energy to look up but she does smile. I see it from this angle. I remember what I said and how I've been mean... Maybe I don't deserve that smile.

"And..." Tris swallows, her thanks gone. "And Al."

"Oh God," I gasp audibly, without meaning to.

They all look at me.

I ignore them. No. No. Al? No.

Al attacked Tris? No. Not the Al that loves Tris. Not the Al that adores shaving to the sound of the chasm. Not my Al.

What the fuck, Al! Why would Tris accuse Al?

Uriah just about lurched in his seat. "Are you all right?"

Tris shakes her head, her blonde hair frizzled in her hair tie. "Not really."

No shit. What the hell?

"But you're just," Uriah continues, scanning her petite form. He stops before he could be offensive.

I know what Uriah means, though.

Tris is small and kind of defenceless. All in all, she's easy to overpower. She may be small and lean but she's also an easy target. And that bastard Peter knew this. Drew knew this.

"Three against one, that isn't fair."

"Yeah because Drew and Peter are fair. That's why they grabbed Edward in his sleep and stabbed him in the eye," I snarl, an ironic snort coming out of me.

Tris nods.

Will tilts his head.

But Al? Why him? Why my Al?

I eye Tris. She wouldn't falsely accuse Al. She never liked him in a romantic way and she never meant to hurt him but... She wouldn't lie about this? Right? I hope so.

My heart falls to my feet.

"Al, though? Are you sure, Tris?" I wince. I know it's wrong to question her but I don't want my guy to be out in the gutter for no reason.

It's wrong but a large portion of myself wants her to be wrong.

"Yeah," she had despair in her breathy response. "I'm sure."

I sulk. Why?

Tris lifts a piece of toast to her mouth.

"It has to be desperation," says Will. "He's been acting...I don't know. Like a different person. Ever since stage two started."

I sigh. My memories flash back to Al and I on the training room floor. He was different. We all were. Why didn't I move him from the narrowing line of life and opportunities? I told him to get better but not like this.

Never like this!

I didn't even think Will noticed but they spend guy time together.

I sigh even harder. It hurts. Why did he go from being an innocent, good man who didn't want to hurt anyone to almost beating Tris to an inch within her life?

He goes from extremes... Al.

Tris drops her toast and it falls to the table.

She's staring at Drew. He painfully shuffles into the cafeteria. He obviously got beaten up too. His head was replaced with a plum, a complete one. His eyebrow and split lip have cuts. He's hobbling, looking like he went to the infirmary and doesn't lift his eyes to anyone as he sits down beside Peter and Drew.

Eric shifts. Him. His gray eyes. His aura. It makes me drawn to him and his jerky movements.

I unwittingly am aware of how Eric is watching the scene unfold before him with a neutral expression. If I were closer, I may have been able to decipher what he would do. And maybe guess with an offhand try what he would do to diffuse the situation.

Will looks disgusted. I should look disgusted too but happiness purses its way through me. Good for Drew.

"Did you do that?" Will hisses to Tris.

I feel bad but the thought of Tris being capable of that never crossed my mind. Nor would it occur to me. I was thinking of the traitor of a man Eric.

First, he tells me to do horribly in the simulations then he is LOWERING me in the ranks since I can't suck his dick or kiss him.

Fuck him. Stupid boys. Stupid Eric. I am so mad at everything today.

Stupid everyone.

She shakes her head after scanning "No. Someone-I never saw who- found me right before..." Tris gulps. "...I got tossed into the chasm."

"They were trying to kill you?" I ask, an angry scrowl in my tone.

"Maybe. They might have been planning on dangling me over it just to scare me." she lazily lifts her left shoulder. "It worked."

I deflate.

"We have to do something about this," Uriah says with a fire in his eyes.

"What, like beat them up?" I grin a little to hide my pain. "Looks like that's been taken care of already."

I wish the person who hit them hit them harder. Drew shouldn't walk. He'd probably hurt someone else. I hope he pisses off the wrong person and they take revenge.

"No. That's pain they can get over," Uriah shakes his head. He seems to care a lot about Tris. Fuck. I feel bad now.

Anyway, Uriah continues. "We have to edge them out of the rankings. That will damage their futures. Permanently."

The conversation around us stops and it's quiet. My eyes dart to Eric. Whenever he clears his throat or speaks, conversations stop. He just has that power.

I swivel around and see Four standing between the tables. Four has that power too.

"Transfers. We're doing something different today," Four says. "Follow me."

We all stand. Something about Four's purple knuckles that are scraped up bothers me. It cuts a hole in me. A Tris-sized hole.

"Be careful," Uriah warns Tris like a brother would before going out for the night. He sounds how I do when I speak to Rose; caring and stern.

Will brushes his warning off. "Don't worry. We'll protect her."

Uriah and Will share a nod.

I look back at Four, agreeing with the message. Did he protect her last night?

I notice that his knuckles are bruised when he waves them. Four is a sensible man. He wouldn't hurt himself during a demonstration. We haven't trained with him in weeks. He wouldn't fight for money either. Drew isn't useless or dumb, he knows how to fight. Only someone experienced and trained to see flaws would beat Drew. Who else knows Drew's faults better than Four?

A bell of clarity rings.

Oh.

I turn around to look at Tris. Tris and I eye each other for a moment. She notices what I notice, which is fucking weird because I didn't know she was paying attention to me.

"Was Four... the person who...?" I don't need to finish my sentence. I gesture over to Drew. Did Drew get beat up by Four?

Tris hurries along after she nods.

Why would Four... do that? What is going on between them? Why was she even around him? He's all scary and all grrr. She's all small and all awwww, cute!

I try to catch myself but she's already run off.

Will is ahead with her.

I feel Eric behind me.

"Leave me alone," I say firmly.

Like he was screening his prey, Eric stalked behind me and caught me like this. Eric doesn't move. He stays rooted there. Hovering. I can feel his volatile breathing on the back of my neck.

Fine. If he won't listen to me or my words, I'll do his job for him. I'll leave him alone. How about that?

I move forward and he catches my wrist. Damn my long limbs. Damn him. Damn his ultra nice touch. When Eric touches me, there's a thrill in my stomach. He smells so good and his hands feel like summer heat. So soft and creamy. It's made of silk.

"What happened to the stiff?" Eric hisses.

"Her name is Tris, you ass," I practically spit the words.

I finally twist to look at him.

"What happened to Tris?" he corrects himself with an eye roll.

"I don't have to tell you. It's not my responsibility to inform you. If you have a qualm with what scene you saw, alarm Tris and not me."

"It's easier to get the Candor to squeal. Everyone knows that." he sneers.

"Yeah. Like I'd tell you. Since you did such a splendid job with the Edward situation." I say and tug my arm away.

He tightens his hold and he grits his teeth. "Tell me."

Eric's narrowed eyes beam with menacing irritation. It's as bright as ever in the shadows of the cafeteria.

"No! I don't have to be nice to you! You chose that. If I won't fucking bother you then don't bother me," I say. I blink. The pain of saying those words actually shocks me.

Eric looks taken aback.

I can't stop staring at him.

Are we nothing? Nothing at all?

"So... please," I whisper. "Let me alone."

That gets Eric to release me. I feel free. I immediately get out of his reach. He watches me. Different. He probably acknowledges that he fucked up and I don't like him the same. It feels awful.

He eyes the lines of my face. "This isn't over."

I don't want us to be over.

"You don't care. Don't cross that line. You didn't choose me, let that be enough," I hiss before stomping away. "For me, on my part. It totally is over!"

I reach Tris and Will in the hallway. They were waiting for me. All the other initiates were trailing behind Four in a single file line.

I look at the delicate Tris. Everyone is delicate. Some hide the pain more than others. Hell, I do it too.

I never noticed just... how easily I could lose people. I wasn't close to Edward or Maya but bad shit happens all the time. People get bruised and hurt at the drop of a hat, people could die during Dauntless stunts and that just terrifies me. How do you recover your friends? How do you keep them safe?

And I was such a bitch when Tris wanted to shine. Every time I deny her or when I am mad at her, something awful happens and we're left in this unease. Like when I called her weak, she got beat up. When I stole the flag, we didn't talk. Next day, you see her getting nicked on the ear by the knife.

I can't even look at her right now. Why did I take the flag? Why did I call her weak?

"I never really said I was sorry," I say quietly to Tris. "For taking the flag when you earned it. I don't know what was wrong with me."

Tris is pale and blonde and she's going through the motions in her head. I wonder if she'll forgive me. If something good will happen when we're in harmony.

"Let's just forget about it," she says resolutely.

Her eyes meet mine. Blue and gray. Storm and stress.

I could take that. This isn't Amity. We don't forgive just like that. We are too fast-paced in Dauntless to keep grudges too. So I nod.

That's good. I smile a bit. That's really good.

We start climbing through the pit, kind of thrilling ourselves with how high we're going.

Four walks backwards, through the pit. The pit is literally a pit. A hole where demons like Eric lie.

The walls have trails and hubs carved into them. The shops, tattoo parlours and the apartments are carved into this pit. I adore it. Even if the rocky walls scrap me, it's just merely pain.

And pain isn't that bad.

Four knows these paths all too well. The narrow path makes me nervous but I am not a wimp.

There's a glass ceiling and the glorious sun caresses my face and bruises my ice-cold skin. Ah.

Will is nervous as he goes up the metal steps that lead to the sky. He goes white and Tris is ahead of me so she comforts my little lamb Will in my place. She's thoughtful the way that I wouldn't have wrapped my arms around him.

Four's playful expression ceases when she sees her thoughtfulness and he yells, "Drew, pick it up."

Drew is obviously a slow sloth with bruises and aches. I mean, the man committed attempted murder. He should be glad he isn't doing time.

There is so much leniency for the little dwarf and his stupid elven friends from the high ups.

As we get up higher, we walk on the glass ceiling that is now a floor. The pit and the chasm lie beneath my feet when I look down. This is dizzying. One fall could end me.

It awakens me. This cylindrical room with glass walls lets me see the surrounding area outside of this Dauntless pit of mine. Abandoned, derelict buildings cover the landscape.

Brown and black ropes reach for us Dauntless. It's almost as if they're begging for us to do stunts with them.

Dauntless are here, relaxed, as if they weren't faced with death. Black dots of clothes roam the room. They are so casual and some spar with wooden batons! They're laughing.

One of them seems ridiculously strong.

I almost fall behind as a Dauntless catches my eye.

He is an inch shorter than me but rigidly packed with muscles. They are off-putting and he isn't posing. He has a square jaw, waving brown hair and His skin is a golden brown with his green eyes illuminating something mild within me.

He winks at me. I look away, feeling my cheeks burn. Who... is that? I run ahead, questions milling around. Then, surprisingly, we are led into another room.

This room is musted with dust and darkness. It isn't as inviting as the bright, open space. Maybe I am biased. I love the sunshine. It is almost the end of September. That saddens me.

My sunshine is almost always taken away. Should I find another sun? Fluorescent tubed lights flicker. Graffiti, big and bold, as on the wall behind Four on a poured concrete wall.

"This," Four looks around the space subtly, "is a different kind of simulation known as the fear landscape. It has been disabled for our purposes, so this isn't what it will be like the next time you see it."

Oh, thank god. This place is pretty sketchy. The exposed pipes remind me of the alleyways where the Factionless would lurk at the end of sultry nights.

Dauntless kids would probably thrive in dark alleys. Why am I so scared? Dauntless do pretty dumb things. They aren't scared of even more than that.

"Through your simulations, we have stored data about your worst fears. The fear landscape accesses that data and presents you with a series of virtual obstacles. Some of the obstacles will be fears you previously faced in your simulations. Some may be new fears. The difference is that you are aware, in the fear landscape, that it is a simulation, so you will have all your wits about you as you go through it. The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have."

I have so many. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck! His pale eyes roam all of ours certainly. He is scanning us to make sure that we are afraid. That's so kind of him. Soooooo kind.

"I told you before that the third stage of initiation focuses on mental preparation," Four says. "That is because it requires you to control both your emotions and your body-to combine the physical abilities you learned in stage one with the emotional mastery you learned in stage two. To keep a level head."

One of the lights twitch above him and for a second he looks like a ghost. Now I am scared of him and his damn words.

"Next week you will go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible in front of a panel of Dauntless leaders. That will be your final test, which determines your ranking for stage three. Just as stage two of initiation is weighted more heavily than stage one, stage three is weighted heaviest of all. Understood?"

Everyone nods. I stay perfectly still.

I hate that I have to go through this nonsense.

I sigh. I don't want to do any of that nonsense. But being a member of Dauntless... After all, this struggle wills me with a cozy warmth. I want to be Dauntless. That would be rewarding. I don't trust the faction and Al isn't here, keeping with me so now I am all unnecessarily sad about that.

And do I have so many fears... that they have access to.

"You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example." Four shrugs. "So I suggest that you take the next week to consider your fears and develop strategies to face them."

I don't have the mental fortitude to actually face my fears. Eric has been telling me to avoid my fears and prolong them for as long as possible.

Now I have to face them head on?

Bring it!

We're all quiet and deducting until Peter breaks the silence.

"That doesn't sound fair," Peter says to Four. "What if one person only has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That's not their fault."

I roll my eyes. Who is he to talk about justice, fairness and equality? But his question is valid. What if someone is expressionless and dead inside and they aren't afraid of nada? Do we just have to ignore that advantage or blame ourselves?

Four laughs and it's a sound I've never heard before. It's a cutting, deadly laugh that was sarcastic and dry. I kind of wonder if he is able to laugh.

I don't like this laugh.

"Do you really want to talk to me about what's fair?" Four asks with the same humour.

Four suddenly charges in measured steps with the force of a bull and the patience of a waiting viper. Peter is near the back where Drew is hobbling.

The other initiates don't want to get in the way of Four and they go on and ahead, out of his path.

Four folds his arms and stands in front of Peter, eyes dangerous and narrowed. "I understand why you're worried, Peter. The events of last night certainly proved that you are a miserable coward. So, now we all know," Four continues quietly, "that you are afraid of a short, skinny girl from Abnegation."

Then he adds a little smile at the end of his sentence.

Tris smiles. I think it's funny but I am scared of both Peter and Four so my shoulders shake with the effort not to burst. Will wraps his arm around Tris again.

Peter closes his mouth with a snap, green eyes brewing with anger. "That doesn't answer my question, though," he mutters to Drew. "Are we supposed to make do with these mediocre standards?"

They both shrug to each other.

They mustn't realize that Four is still standing there with the coldest expression that makes my stomach gelid. Everyone is exasperated with the psycho and I understand why; Peter doesn't seem sorry at all.

Punishment in any form won't deter him from being awful.

"You have the answers, no? You are my instructor..." Peter asks and Four shakes his head.

Four forcefully shoves past Peter, who laughs a bit. Peter's triumphant because he completely took control of the situation. Drew was looking at his god with heart eyes and Molly is sniggering. I hate them so much.

"Despicable," I spit out at him when I hang back to talk to him.

Peter shrugs. "You could convince me with a kiss-"

"You know, if it makes you a better person then maybe but you don't care about redemption."

"Huh?"

"All these jealousy ploys. The making of enemies. The training until you throw up... You are just like me and then you're not." I say quietly.

I turn away. This is useless. Why do I give a shit if Peter of all people reform themselves? Sure, he's everywhere and awful but it shouldn't matter. At all.

"Ay! Wait! Talk and explain!"

I turn around again. "I don't think you are afraid of being cut out. I think you just do these bad things for the fun of it. You don't have remorse. You haven't even said sorry!" I snap with all the disgust and repulsion in me. "You put her hands on me and Tris and you don't think to apologize? You're a nightmare sometimes!"

"A nightmare?! Don't you think she's a nightmare? Christina-"

"Why did you bring Al into this?! You corrupted his mind."

Peter waved it away. "He was already paranoid. He was going to do it before Drew and I-"

"Tried to chuck Tris into the fucking chasm?!" My shout shuts him up. He's silent and I'm loud enough for the both of us. "Why did you do it?"

He freezes. Speechless.

That just eggs me on.

"You attacked Tris. My Tris. My friend! Then you go ahead and laugh about it. What the hell are you trying to prove? You're stronger than a ninety-pound girl? A humble girl from Abnegation? The girl who happens to be smaller than you and with a better mind than you! It isn't that hard to tell. I don't think you can have repentance if you don't even have an answer. I hate nothing more than a coward and the silence, Peter!" I yell.

"Silence, eh?" Peter asks.

I am huffing. He looks at the sun that is shining through. Bastard. He closes his eyes briefly, unaware of how easily I could just attack him right now. I want to. Maybe this whole thing would cease to hurt me! Maybe this won't hurt me.

"Campaign with me." he opens his almond eyes.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't want kisses. I want to be better. That's what the campaign is. Teaching me to be better."

"I'm. Wait- what? You want to be better at being a psycho?! What the hell do you mean?"

He rocks on his heels. "I want to be good enough for you to like me again. Like when we were kids."

I blink. "Why the hell would I agree to that?"

Peter shrugs. "No one else cares that I am like this. They're all scared of me. What I am..." his eyes trail back to his unclenching, twitching fist. "What I can do."

I shudder. "Damn straight."

He shifts. "Will you do it?" he flashes his green eyes.

There's obviously a problem; he's a lying asshole with decent hands. He also has bruises on them too. He's also self-aware to know that if he keeps on doing this bad shit, someone will kill him. And would anyone else help him?

You know what, I don't have to bother myself from the 7th spot on the ladder. I think I'll miss out on this crap-tastic opportunity to die. What if I piss him off and he turns on me?

I don't want to die!

So, I fold my arms and shake my head in calm but jerky motions. "No."

He blinks. "What?"

"Was I not clear enough? Let me say it again; no. No. No. No-"

"Stop saying that."

"Huh? I have a haiku with the word no. It's ready with the I won't help you limerick and the fuck off poem sitting on my bed. Would you like a read, Peter?"

"You are such a bitch!" Peter exclaims.

"You are a psychopath! Why should I involve myself in that? Do you even know what a haiku is?"

Maybe I shouldn't have said that last part. Peter snaps. Something just lets go and his tranquil exterior quivered with anger and hesitant furiosity.

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Do it. Or I'll make you do it."

I roll my eyes. "That's exactly why your dumb ass isn't getting any help! You're too fucking annoying and threatening. I don't want to get hurt."

He stops what he's doing and his voice had this odd inflection that I couldn't get enough of.

"Oh." he deflates and the anger is gone. His shoulders are a drooping line. It reminded me of a frown. "That's right."

He sounds defeated.

"Ah. Now you understand how you can either be helpful to me by calming yourself or you can carry on being angry in the dust." I say slowly.

He does look desperate. He leans forehead and I flick his forehead.

He shirks back and holds a palm to the minor injury. "What was that for?!"

He looks like he's restraining himself; trying not to punch me himself.

"That's a sign you've annoyed me," I inform him.

He growls and I flick his forehead again. I dodge his swat to my hand.

"What was that for?" Peter yelps.

"Being annoying." I shrug. And I think he was staring at my boobs, which was annoying too.

"What, is it in your nature to abuse everyone?" he sneers.

"No. Just you," I say.

He mutters some insults under his breath and I click my tongue. "You want my help? Choose a way to prove you deserve it. Choose well, Dauntless. Or I'll do worse than beat you up for what you did to Tris and corrupting Al!"

"You can't beat me up." Peter snorts. "No one can."

Not even Four. Fuck. What chance do I have then?

"You don't know what I can do when I want to hurt someone. It isn't only physical, asshole." I say lowly. "Until then, it's a no. Until I deem your tries as fit, stay the fuck away, okay?"

He swallows. "What? What about the campaign?"

I laugh and it comes out sick and sweet. "Give me two days. Every time I see you, I want to punch you. That isn't good for me or you," I smile a little. "It would be good for me-"

Then he blinks and uncurls his body from his defensive position. "Punch me."

Now it's my turn to be speechless. "What...?"

He nods and swallows. His Adam's apple bobs certainly. "Punch me on the face. As many times as you want. As hard you want. Where you want. When you want. That's my repentance."

The beat drops and I wait.

I'm waiting for the laugh. I expect that smirk. The evil gloss over his eyes. The cartoonish villain in my childhood to come out. The violence. The punchline because he isn't being serious.

Joy ripples through me. Should I go ahead and hit him or just turn around because this is insane... Insane? Is it really? He isn't being real right now. What. Why would he want me to hit him?

Then fear stops me. I don't want to- I want to but. This is wrong. This isn't how you become a better person.

"Peter. What the hell?" I whimper. Is he being serious right now?

He kneels, half of his imposing height. I see the whorls of his brown curls catching the light. He's being submissive with his head lowered, arms out and every muscle very loose. He wasn't going to seriously...

Oh my god.

"Punch me on the face. As many times as you want. As hard you want. Where you want. When you want. That's my repentance." Peter repeats.

"How many lies are you telling right now, Peter?!" I yell.

"The truth sets you free. I am ready to be better-"

I slap his face. Once.

"The truth-"

Twice.

My hand is trembling. It stings from the aftermath of the strike. What's. What's wrong with him? I didn't know it would come to this. Him kneeling in front me like this. I- what's wrong with him?

He's ready to kneel and get hurt.

To repent.

"Throw me into-"

"PETER, SHUT UP!" I snap, emotion in my anguished yell.

Just shut up! Just shut up. Why was he talking? I squeeze my eyes so tightly, tears of bitterness almost leak out. My whole body is cringing. Trying to jump away, lightspeed fast, into another situation.

He can't just admit to something and want to repent. It is like I'm in a dark closet and he's throwing a live firecracker inside. There are screams and fires everywhere. This repentance is supposed to be a slow burn thing. Like a candle. Not happy like fireworks but sad and sorrowful like incense burning at the end of a funeral.

What the fuck is wrong with him?!

I hiss, "You can't just say things like that. No one should-"

"I do well on my own. I do bad things by myself. If I am with another person, then maybe I'll survive the initiation without a knife in my eye." He wavers for a moment. "I'm allowed to be scared, alright? I'm alone, I admit it. Molly and Drew are just being dumb, messing around and I don't know if they'll make it. I'm. It's only me. Me and my bad things by myself at the end of the night. I've been really meaning to do something about it. Last night, I wanted to scare her but- but they wanted to kill her and I. I just let it happen. I'm in the back seat, watching it happen but I'm not controlling myself. I. I'm scared, okay? I'm tired of doing bad things and feeling good about it."

"That's..." I drag a hand through my hair. Peter really is a jerk. Just. Don't say shit like that, alright? I walk away, scared to death and oddly confused.

* * *

-End Chapter-

 


	14. Life

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 14-  
Life

* * *

Peter's words echo in my mind.

_I'm in the back seat._

_I have no control._

_I am allowed to be scared._

In this never-ending spiral, I can't even focus when I get back to the dorm and there's Al. Big guy Al. My best friend Al. My Al. And I didn't know how much I could hate and love at the same time. Those polarizing emotions are tearing me apart. It's ruining everything.

How... could Al do that? He attacked Tris out of desperation. He was depressed. The life got sucked out of him. Peter manipulated him. Drew is his hero. And me... I yelled at him and pushed Al over the edge.

Fuck. Fuck.

Tris and Will stand close together. She's trembling but solid.

I swallow my words. What will she do? Condemn or accept him? She's Dauntless... I almost laugh about the answer. My words should have been cuts in the mouth. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Will reaches out, his hands on Tris's shoulder. Lightly. To give her some odd sense of comfort.

Al's face is swollen from the tears and his whole body shakes. He's on his bed, the light casting shadows. He looks awful. My once lovable guy is falling apart.

His tattoos stick out from underneath his collar and his hair is all mussed. He contained himself enough to not cry. Many people are watching, silent. That's what these Dauntless bastards do, eh? They watch and do nothing. They don't even care about anyone but themselves.

Oh, Al...

"Tris," says Al, his voice breaking. "Can I talk to you?"

"Are you kidding?" Will squeezes Tris helpfully, glaring at Al. "You don't get to come near her ever again," he orders. In the big brother way.

"I won't hurt you. I never wanted to..." Al covers his face with both hands. He falters, not knowing what to say or where to go. "I just want to say that I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't... I don't know what's wrong with me, I... please forgive me, please..."

He reaches for Tris. He wants mercy. Forgiveness. How can someone give it to him, to Peter? To me? 

"Stay away from me," Tris says loudly but her voice is barbed and low. "Never come near me again. If you do, I swear to God I will kill you. You coward."

Al storms out of the dorm when I catch his arm. "I thought you'd keep with me, Al!" I hiss under my breath.

"I'm sorry," his eyes dart all over my face. Then he yanks his arm away. "I want to be alone."

I sigh. Al...

* * *

When I round the endless amount of corridors, I finally find Al in the hallway and we stare for a little. His eyes look to be devoid of emotions and they're empty. I know it's dangerous but Al is my friend. And Tris is my friend too.

All these loyalties push and pull me one way and another way, too. I just don't want to be left abandoning either of them.

And Al is just a fool. I can't get through to him. He's right here but not. It's a lonely feel.

He's about three metres away. And I don't think I want him closer. My guy who was virtually a pillow and a laughing machine is now the opposite. He could do some real damage. To me. To Tris. To everyone.

His soft curves now look like edges. His gargantuan form isn't making him look clumsy, it makes him look intimidating. He could kill me. Kill...  _me._

"I said I wanted to be alone," Al growls.

"And I don't care. You don't get to order me around, none of you bastard can."

He chuckles sardonically. "What if I hit you?"

"Ha! Nice try. I'll hit you back. Ten times harder."

I smile cheekily but it feels more like an empty threat since he's actually willing to hit back. He knocked Will out. But I can't show weakness.

"Face it, I'll kick your ass." I finish, squaring up. 

Al just squints then shakes his head. "What do you want?"

I raise my chin up and stiffen my shoulders. "Al... You need some help."

"You too?" Al demands, jerking like I sent an electric shock through him. "Everyone's saying that and I don't care! I don't want help! Let me be this way!"

"You could maybe even tell someone about your problems! You aren't getting punished, no one's reported you. I haven't even reported you!" I say loftily. I clear my throat of emotions. "You know, we tell the truth and we fight for that truth so you get to fight for the truth that you aren't that bad. You belong here. That you have some Dauntless blood."

"I... I tried to kill... Tris and now. Now she doesn't want to be my friend-"

"All of this can be forgiven!" I wave frantically to his shadow eyes, his dark tattoos and his mussed hair. "If you try to help yourself, I can still be your friend! I can still keep with you!"

"You don't want that!"

"Al, don't you tell me what to want! I want you to repent. I want you to live. Here. I... I want... I want to keep you." I finish with a sad crack in my voice. 

Shit. I sound weak. 

"Really?" His whole air of depression lifts considerably.

He flinches his large arms up and I watch in slight horror. That's how long his arms and limbs are. How much muscle there is. How hard he could punch. How fast he was. And fuck. He gives an experimental step forward and my body goes into flight mode.

So, I flinch away and hold the wall.

"Christina-" He gasps. 

I realize what I've done. Fuuuuck. He turns around, glaring, his body stiff. His other muscles are clubbed and I... And I just feel so bad and cautious.

"Al!" I run up to him, all my fear forgotten.

He tilts his gaze over his shoulder.

I run in front of him. "Al, don't do this! You could still reform! You're still in the game!"

His eyes are voids and he's just a shell. I'm so confused. I'm so hurt but Al.

"Al..." My saliva tastes like chalk as I try to gulp air and speak at the same time. "You need help. I'm willing to help you-"

"YOU'RE AFRAID OF ME! CHRISTINA! AFRAID!" Al screams.

"I'm afraid of your anger but I'm not afraid of you!"

"LIES! ALL OF YOU WANT ME GONE! WANT ME DEAD! WANT ME SOMEPLACE ELSE AND I- and I just can't handle it. SCREW YOU-"

"NO! SCREW YOU!" I shove his chest. "Shut the fuck up! Screaming like a banshee, attacking Tris, you seem like a goddamn maniac who I can't trust, no screw you!" I shove his chest again.

His hot huffs ruffle my bangs and I keep on shoving.

"Fool! I just want to trust you again! That jealousy won't consume you. Your mental strain isn't too bad! I... I just need to know if I have my Al. My guy." I stomp my foot. "You can make this initiation your triumph and glory but you gotta get help and admit to your mistakes."

His expression is so angry and I didn't know I've been punching him for that entire speech. I'm out of breath and my voice croaks and I... I just want this odd feeling to go away!

"Al-" I say because he's staring at me so resolutely in the silence.

He catches my fist. I worry for a couple of milliseconds. Is he going to push me into the wall? Flip me over and make me do something? Fling me into the chasm?! The possibilities are endless. What is he going to do? Can I react quickly enough? Fuck.

"Al!" I say more desperately.

He just stares. And stares. His nails dig into my arm and he's... He just stares at me!

"AL!" I cry out. His hold is hurting me!

Then he pulls me into his chest.

He hugs me. It's an instinct and I tense up and he doesn't seem to notice or care. And I sigh, enveloped in heat and warmth. He's always hugged me and me hugging him. It's a natural sight and touch. This hug feels... oddly final.

"Al..." I whisper. "Get some help."

I fight him for a little until my fight is gone and I want to hold him more than punch him. The tension leaves with some anger not too far behind. 

I encircle my arms around his beefy body. "You idiot. You damned idiot."

And he finally cries again, swollen lips, swollen eyes. Swollen heart.   

"I would never hurt you... Christina. Never." he sobs, horribly, instead of promising he'll help himself.

His sobs wrack his whole body, taking every breath, every action of his lungs are dedicated to letting out this anguish. Where his nails puncture my arm... throbs with truth.

"I know... I know..." I stroke his hair and hold him for all of its worth. My words are lies but sometimes, I learned, all people need to hear are lies.

"Peter and Drew, they made Tris sound like a bad guy and I... I didn't know if I could keep up and I... I'm just so sorry." he shudders.

His words are strung together with grief and slobbers but I just pat his back. "It's okay."

"It's not!" he pushes away and stands to his full height.

"Al... You gonna get help?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"I'm proud of you, okay?" I smile a bit with my throaty voice. "You're keeping up. I'll be damned if you go to the deep end without me doing something for you!"

"Deep end? Like the chasm?" he blinks.

I nod. "'Course." I shrug a bit. "Why didn't you... say why your smile was heavy?"

"'Cause I'll be weightless without my struggles in a little." He stares at me, eyes not wet and tinged with this strange calmness. "I know you'll become great and you'll do something amazing and I... I know you were a good friend. I didn't deserve it. My best friend." he turns around. "I'll see you again."

Something inside of me bends. Like it wasn't supposed to. "Yeah. Who else will slave away to give me muffins?" I joke. "I-" 

"You like those way too much." he says accusingly. There's a cuteness and a slyness to his voice that gives me doubt that this man is capable of terrible things.

"Don't rag on my food choices. You eat bucket loads of meat all day." I say back.

"Mhm... Christina... Take care of yourself."

Al gives me a pleasant smile. One that's so filled with peace and optimism. His eyes aren't red and this... This is the Al I've seen before initiation. Before he fell in love. Before he became my friend. He starts down the hallway. He's standing on the edge of himself, staring down at his shadow with a smile.

"Al?" I whisper.

He turns a bit and shines me a smile. "Yeah?"

"Fix yourself because I can't speak with you until you're stable. Okay?" I whisper, looking away.

"Yeah," he sighs, that dark cloud returning.

"And Al?" I struggle to fight the lump in my throat. "Be careful." I look at him.

He nods and I... Something in me flutters with uncertainty. A cry for attention. An odd sense of danger. Something inside of me tells me to follow him but I respect his Candor side to be alone. I use my Candor side to believe his truth. 

I don't see Al again that night or again tomorrow. The next time I see him, he's surrounded by a group of Dauntless.

And Oh. God. Oh, God. Oh. GOD! 

Al's standing right on the ledge, balancing because of sheer will and not because he wanted to live-  _He_  didn't want to live. I was passing by the chasm and now he's going to jump _._

"Al?" I choke, trying to find words but my throat doesn't allow me to do anything substantial.

A crowd of people in the odd darkness just watch with fear and pity. Someone grips my arm and yanks me back. "What the hell are you doing?" the woman demands.

She's my hairdresser. She has bald hair (she cut it) and the biggest brown eyes I've ever seen. Her nose ring glints. She looks dangerous and she's hurting my arm.  I rip my arm away.

"Saving my friend!" I hiss back with equal intensity.

I can't think properly. I can't see properly. This gives me a headache. Fuck.

She shakes her head. "I admire your valour but all of us are exactly like you." she rolls her eyes but she's also wary of this situation too.

She's wasting my time. I don't have time for riddles, either! What the fuck- I am Candor, I'm supposed to know what she's talking about. Fuck. Fuck. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"Don't you think that we've tried already? He isn't fucking listening. I hope I didn't cut off any brain cells when I did your hair." She blocks me.

"Bite me. I don't have time for prissy bitches who don't know anything about anything!" I bare my teeth. "Let me be, I swear I can save him-"

"I am Dauntless, I will save those who have a chance-"

"Al is worth saving too! You're not God or whoever the fuck gets to decide who gets saved. Don't even try."

I shove her. She doesn't budge. I try to sidestep her but she mirrors my every step. Damn her. She's being a perfect wall. She has an air of unshakable determination and resistance that I can't get around.

I shove her dainty shoulders, expecting her to tumble but she's craning her neck to look at me. She has a clear advantage. But I want Al, so fuck her advantage. I'll get through.

"Al!" I call out desperately. "Al, you fucking promised! You promised!"

He doesn't hear me. Why doesn't he hear me? His back muscles clench up and I see how hard he's coiled up.

"AL!" I cry out.

He never looked back. His last words ring through me. Now he won't even look at me?

"You wanna get through to him, who is going to die without being SAVED, you gotta get through me, alright, chopped bangs!" My hairdresser threatens.

"Really?" I whisper. I shrink, my shoulder's hunching and my body. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry- I'll stop..." I sigh and give her big, forgiving eyes. "I just care about him- s-so much..."

She softens. "Oh, honey, it's okay," she whispers then I smile graciously.

_Gotcha._

Before the confusion flashes through her black eyes, I punch her in the stomach as hard as I could. It hurt my wrist.  But my pain gets shadowed by her pain. She lets out a loud, tortured cry when I hit her again, a hard knee hunched into her stomach. I pull on her flailing arm but she grabs my wrist and intercepts me. I don't know she'd flipped me over until the air was sucked out of my throbbing ribs.

She's grinding her teeth, her cheeks. "I'm Dauntless too, bitch," My hairdresser whispers. She blinks at me. "Don't forget that."

My back makes impact with the hard rock, and the burning sensation on my elbows felt wet. Blood. Pain. But my heart, it's my heart that's the most pained.

I scream out, "Al," but my voice was a quiet sigh. "I want hi-"

"We have it under control." she snaps. "I have to keep you safe. You are saved, now, don't waste it! We don't need two of our young ones going over the edge."

I stare at her ghostly white skin under the blue lights. I fight her weight. "Let me go!"

"No. I don't trust you," she whispers lowly, "because life is precious. We never say but it is precious, don't waste it on something like this. You have to face bigger enemies than this. A dead friend won't be something that you cry over. It'll pale against your newer fiends and enemies. So, get your shit together, Chopped Bangs-"

"That's enough Beckham," A familiar voice says.

Beckham or Bitchy Beckham doesn't move her weight from me, she's holding my wrists down.

Eric.

Eric's profile from the side makes me want to stop being mad at him. He isn't even... He isn't even the focus of my anger, he's subtly on the edges, floating in the soft spots of my mind. He is such a jackass, making me guilty like that.

He looms over the both of us. I hadn't noticed everyone watching us, the crowd of twenty tattooed, wild-looking folks circled around us. Giving us space. None of them would stop this madness.

They shuffle, kicking up some dirt, when they move to let Eric go through. Dust gets in my lungs, in my eyes but those might be tears.

"Al!" I cry out.

I can't see him with all the tall people blocking my view. Beckham bitch, she's still on top of me. My wrists feel like they have millions of carpet burns. My body shakes, shaking is not good, because the stone below me is cold. Too cold. My wrist feels like it's leaking. 

I glare at Eric. I hate him so much and I want to cry but I can get over that because Al is on that ledge. He's on that ledge and I love him and I want him.

"Please don't make me lose any more things," I whisper. "I may not be your responsibility but Al damn sure is mine. He's mine."

Eric stares at me. He seems studious, long eyelashes poking into my heart. I just swallow hard. Everything floats when he's near. Even his pale lips distract me. He waits seventeen seconds, his metal eyes, all over my body. He waited the length of a decently dull kiss.

That we haven't shared... 

"Beckham, get up," Eric says loudly.

"Eric!" gasps Beckham.

"Al is on that freaking ledge and I am under this woman. Eric, please get this bitch off of me before I KILL HER!" I yell, I scream and kick. "Please."

Eric sighs and moves away. He picks Beckham off of me, who's like a bull huffing out carbon dioxide and poison.

I finally get up, realizing that Eric already grabs my wrist and tugs gently. I slap him away. "Don't touch me," I hiss.

Eric tilts his head. "Rookie..." he says loudly. "You have to-"

I step away from him, frantically holding my arms up. "No. No. I don't have time for your games and questions, concerns, or hell."

I turn and I am in between all these people and Al. I wanted him to, uh, feel safe and like he should stay here.

"Don't try to stop me. I've made up my mind," Al says, all of his resolve in his firm tone. "I don't need to explore this realm anymore! I even brought a rock, so I could sink faster. Let this happen."

I look bewildered. When he scans the crowd, he looks at me then gives a nervous smile. With his gums peeking, with his white teeth, with his laugh being the sun and the sea.

"Bye Christina..." Al says loudly. His tone... his innocence, his brightness is almost reminiscent of the him from way back when. 

We stay in that precious moment. It might have been insignificant but that is the truest smile I've ever seen from since... since math class... And that was almost a year ago.

I frame the brilliance and its surrounding glow, just to catch the moment. But I am not quick enough. I'm never quick enough. I run many miles, I cough up much blood, but I amnot quick enough.

He's saying a bunch of words; his prepared suicide speech. His stuttering is throwing me off. My arms are noodles, my arms are weak, my arms are weak. My legs are weak.

I'm not fast enough.

My body runs through the crowd, being a bulldozer just so I could get to the front, where the ledge is.

I am reaching. I am reaching, straining all my muscles and lurching myself further than I am supposed to go just to catch a taste, a handful of fabric, a flimsy string of his shoelace.

I'm... I'm... I'm fast enough- I'm fast enough!

The rushing water is nothing. The cold is nothing. The fact that I am reaching between the railing and over is  _nothing_.

I almost have it but I am suddenly confronted with a gust of air. He jumped... And I didn't catch... him. I couldn't have done anything.

Al... is down there. And I am up here. He jumped and I stayed. He's... drowning. My heart rips in two. The physical feeling of this no. No. Dust begins to settle. He's... gone.

Before I know what I am doing, I am still reaching over the ledge-

Someone shoves me from my side, knocking me off balance. I feel the scratchy feeling of hair on my collarbone, as my arms and body get squished under this huge force.

I inhale deeply, bracing myself for the fall. I am lousy at staying afloat. I can't even keep a friend alive.

Pain tastes like blood and regrets when I feel the familiar chill of the stone floor.

Al... Al is dead. He was my friend. Now he wanted  _death_ to be his company. Ouch.  _Ouch_. Actually, it doesn't hurt anymore. It's fading.

That's a good thing.

Then I hear a swift movement. Then another. But... why does that matter, everything gets fuzzy. I am pretty lousy. And I want to protect him longer.

But I can't.

I close my eyes and drift to someone hooking their arms under me.

 _I can't do anything_.

* * *

I open my eyes, shocked and bleary-eyed. I'm tangled in millions of sheets. I'm cold, I'm hot, never satisfied. I look around and coffee and cigarettes are in my mouth. Well, the taste. That smell- oh, the disorientation smell and panic fades as I inhale deeply. I'm suddenly greeted by the stiff dark color of Eric's shirt.

I sigh, letting the air out of my lungs.

My heart pumps louder in my chest, blaring all of my ties to consciousness and reality.

No light comes in this time. Well, fluorescent lights burn my eyes. Everything is in place. Even his drooping plant he hasn't watered in a while. Should I remind him?

_No._

WAIT- why am I even in his room? Why am I in his room? I feel like I'm forgetting something. I can't breathe. My head and back aches like there's no tomorrow and Eric's staring at me like I'm bad news.  
He's at the head of the bed, still staring.

Heat just definitely drops into my stomach with a bloody crash. It was Eric.

I struggle with my words. They fall out of my mind. But he watches me in vain while I struggle to keep my cool.

"You know, this is how horror movies start. I would scream." I say off-handedly, through the gasp and suffering.

Shifting hurts. Why does my  _everything_ hurt? I swear, I was  _fine_ before tonight.

"Then scream..." says Eric.

Huh? I squint. "You'd let me?" I ask skeptically.

He sighs after staring at me for a long time. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"Do you remember what happened last night?" he demands all semi-stern, semi-concerned.

"Last night? What do you mean  _last night_?" I whisper. I hide myself behind one of his sweet-smelling pillows. Why are they so incredibly soft? Would they be soft if we... never mind.

Then it comes. In a small wave then it consumes me. Everything I feared. The look in his glassy eyes, the sorry one I've never seen him in before.

Something terrible happened.

Eric swallows painfully. His expression tells me everything I need to know. The feeling that goes through me isn't pleasant. I feel like vomiting and ripping my heart out since it hurts to be alive. It's a dry ache that settles in my stomach like hard candy that I swallowed and haven't chewed. My expression becomes watery. Al. I can't breathe.

I still can't breathe.

I give him the dullest threat with a murderous glance. "Don't  _say_  it-"

"Al died." Eric says anyway, a fact. It's a fact.

"No. No. No!" I throw pillows at him. "Al is still here. He's going to come to me in the cafeteria, hand me a granola bar with  _nuts_ and peanut butter since he knows that Molly is allergic to them and say something corny and kind even though it's early and we've both had to work out. Then it hurts to laugh and laugh but he still does it anyway. He will do that!" I throw many, many of the things on the bed. I run out of pillows with a huff. "So, you can't tell me that Albert died!" I shout.

Eric says nothing as he advances, slowly. Like a hunter approaching his prey. Or a child. Something soft and delicate. I am not soft and delicate-

I shouldn't.  _Fuck_.

I have nothing to grab so I lace my hands in my hair. "No. I refuse! I refuse-" I point to him. "And you, stop looking at me like that, I'll be damned if you do, alright?" I pound on the bed. "I don't-"

"He died. Jumped into the chasm yesterday night." Eric continues.

"Yesterday?!" I pound on the bed.

My voice is broken and I've yelled so loud that it hurts my lungs since I can't breathe either. Why am I yelling? Why would I be so mad if he wasn't dead?

Damn it. Damn it. My tears are wild and black when I wipe them away. Damn mascara. Damn Al. FUCK!

"We couldn't find the body until recently, and you hit your head, so you were passed out until now. You are yelling-" He stops himself, still getting closer. "And I'm sorry, he's truly dead."

Dragon fire hot rage courses through me. "Don't you dare apologize! You don't care. This is a formality. You don't care about what I him or m! Or Al! You fucking threw knives-"

He finally moves onto the bed, behind me and I'm too tangled up in the sheets to really skitter away. Damn these sheets. Damn him.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I break, my voice no higher than a whisper but I still-

He pulls me to him like a puzzle piece, every warm part of him meshed with me as my heart howls with guilt. Why... why did Al have to leave things off like that? Like this? Eric holds me, in my tumultuous movements, my crying and wrenching.

He rubs his arms up and down my sides, still a prison, still being a good guy. His heartbeat is steady while he controlled every fibre of my being and the way my head processed things.

He smells nice... instead of alcohol, he smelt intoxicating.

I push away, angrily. "Don't ever do that again. Don't distract me. Don't touch me."I say, my voice weird and frog-like.

He kisses my neck. "Don't be afraid to cry. Let those tears come. I won't go anywhere. Something is wrong."

My heart trembles and I keep on feeling cold, my face is cold, and my chest heaves with the force of someone wanting to vomit.

"It's okay. It's okay. This is a way you're being strong." he whispers, and I have no fight anymore.

I watch his face for a while. My chest feels worse. Like it is filled with ashes and ashes and... 

"Al..." I say, the words not coming to me. 

Eric holds me closer. "I know, I know. He's..." 

"Dead!" I let out. 

I start sobbing, and sobbing, and crying. Oh god. My head feels like someone is pouring in cement only to use a jackhammer. What the fuck? Then my eyes feel like swollen melons. God.

"It hurts! It hurts, so bad, E-Eric. He's dead." I wail, loud and I'm traumatized, I'm... weak, I feel useless. "We was right there in front of me and I did noth- I did not- not- NOThing!"

I shift around in the bed. My wet face is in his chest, my disgusting, snotty nose in his shirt and I'm clawing at his shirt with the grip of death on Albert. It's forceful and devastating. When I lean on him, shape myself around him, I can properly fall apart. My sobs shake my core. And I mumble things.

All he does is rub my back, kiss my cheek, and his warm words reach my ear. "Christina... you can cry. Feel it all."

Another ugly sigh racks my body. "I miss him. I miss him so bad. I hate him so much, is that even  _possible_?!"

He nods, my tears making the space where my head is tucked underneath his chin moist. He doesn't care and I don't care. I shift but the pain inside of me tries to get out.

His skin is moonlit, pale and soft. I'm oddly at peace with myself, less guarded, now that it was just the two of us again. It was easier to tell feelings, not in front of people who thought that I was so cool. I couldn't mess it up for myself.

"It's normal."

"Why am I so weird and useless?" I demand.

I'm babbling again, like a child, but my string of incoherent words makes sense to Eric. That's endearing to me.

"I had him- I almost, him! God, the instant of Al being alive to dead is me. It's my fault." I sigh, and let in a breath through my mouth. My head hurts from so many tears. I'm choking on my runny mucus. Fuck.

He stiffens at that and kisses the top of my head, even though I sound like a sick patient with a smoking habit.

"It's not your fault-" he insists.

"Don't lie to me-"

"You're Candor. I can't. He jumped. You didn't. You tried to stop him. You did what you could," he tells me with so much conviction, I decide to brood over it on my own time. Because now, I could maybe, might believe that.

"I have... I mean, I have to... I never said goodbye?" Absentmindedly, I lean my head onto his strong chest, defeated. I hear his heartbeat. And it's stopping the conversation.

After a solid hour or two of that quiet, Eric shifts and I wake up from fucking crying myself mental. He is entrapping me and I just let him after a while. I am no longer a mess but a quiet subtle one. A subtle one but still a mess.

"I wonder if he's somewhere above or below. I don't know..." I whisper.

Eric keeps on breathing... and it swells and rises and falls and dips.

"Your breaths make me question life itself. When does air become breath? When do we move from living to dying? When does life stop moving?" I continue.

He lets out a sigh, sounding like a tire but feeling like one. He's taught and round and solid. "The distance between earth and space is about 62 miles... If you were to travel, spirit or whatever, it would go those miles in a flash." Eric says.

That's the distance between heaven and hell. It's so small. Anyone's ability to go to either places is so easily tipped.

"I don't think he's going to heaven..." Eric whispers. "Hell, I don't think I am either."

I smile a bit. "I don't know... Probably not me, too," I shrug.

Eric shakes his head.

"Don't say any lies, okay?" I snap.

"I wouldn't. You're pure... angry and loud, but you haven't done anything wrong." he shifts lightly. "I know you don't believe me at all but... it's true."

I ignore him. I look over, up to the ceiling. It's probably night now. "Maybe Al... could go... to the moon instead of hell or heaven, staying here." I suggest. "Maybe we could all end up in the moon, all three of us."

Would we even get there? I let out a ragged breath. Would my secrets pull me down? Would... Al make it? Would I make it there? Does anyone? Do we just crisp up and die? Because I don't want to die without knowing what happened...

"Shoot for the moon and miss, you still end up in the stars," Eric whispers to me. "You could be in the stars. Floating safely above the earth..."

"You think I'd be in a star?" I ask quietly. "I'd make it. A week in the future."

"I may have chosen you as an initiate, but you brought yourself to greatness," he responds.

"Do you think he's okay?" I ask, my mind quickly wandering back to Al.

"I think so. I hope so." Eric admits honestly.

"I thought you didn't believe in hope." I mumble against his chest. How is he so strong here? Why does the steady rhythm soothe me? My soul goes like  _that's music. That's simplicity. That's mine._

I feel a strong sense of embarrassment crushing my lungs.

Mine? He... isn't mine.

"Outside of love, hope is the most powerful word." Eric gives a nonchalant lift of one shoulder. The one I am not leaning on.

"Oh."

He casually pulls me closer. "I may have chosen you as an initiation, but you brought yourself to greatness." he whispers. Again. "I mean it." His fingers trail the exposed skin of my loose black clothing.

"You believe in hope, the goodness that good things happen?" I say delicately. Why does my voice keep on cracking?

I wipe away the tear. Does Al need good luck? Is he eating too much? Can he eat? Why couldn't he eat earthly food? Why... why didn't he just stay?

"No. There was this weird thing people say before the end of the world; Hold on, pain ends," he whispers.

"That doesn't make sense... people get numb and then they feel again. Does it stop hurting?"

"Usually." he sighs, fingers scrabbling at the base of my neck, playing with my hair.

"Usually sounds like a no." I look at him, my pointy chin settled on his left peck.

"I've never dealt with a death that was personal to me," His heart reaffirms his words. "I did wish my parents would die, though."

I look at him then choose not to answer. "I'm still mad at you." I whisper. "Why'd you take me in?"

"Because you shouldn't grieve alone." he says, looking at me deep in my eyes.

"I wouldn't. I have Tris, and Will and Al would-" I pause then clench my fist and my voice catches a bit. "Al would  _have_ held me." I am so dumb. He's gone. He is a past tense now.

"You would've held Will and I. I didn't want that," he continues, carefully, for a man who is risky and calculated...

"Oh God! I am staying here while Al is... dead. Dead." I whisper.

I get up and Eric lets me go. I need to go. I need a morbid clarification, the slight burning in my eyes to actually see him. I need to see the body. I need to see Al and tell Will and Tris. They're welcome to see the panorama of information and grief.

It's almost night.

I scramble out of bed, realizing my elbows were bandaged. I look at him. "You didn't need to," I scrub tears away. Why am I going to cry again? Why? Fuck. He's just helping me. Why? I don't want help.

"You need to eat," he whispers.

"I don't want to," I shake my head.

"You have to do that." Eric says. "Rookie-"

"Don't  _call_ me that!" I say loudly. The air feels chilly and uncomfortable. "You don't get to call me that. Not again."

"Rookie..." he whispers, sighing.

"You can't keep me here. You don't even like me very much, so I don't want your food or help."

"I don't want to be an escape for your life. I want to be an addition to this," Eric scrubs his hands through his hair, looking at me with wide eyes that weren't empty grey plains.

I want to believe him so badly but I can't. I remember his smile when he told me I wouldn't make it in Dauntless. That I wasn't his responsibility.

"There's so much more than what you think is involved." His eyes were like the fog on a winding road, blurring my vision and muddling my sense of direction.

He gets off of the bed, my bare feet on the ground and I am just looking at him in new light. How... did he even think to bandage my hip and ankles?

My cheeks burn. Thank God I'm dark!

"Why'd you... do all that?" I whisper. "Your... I am not your responsibility."

He shifts, blowing air out of his mouth. He has this cocktail of confusion and unreadable stiffness.

I don't know what to do. We just got out of a life changing talk and I need to do something to show that I care. Plus, he kept on talking about sad things. I step into the hug. I voluntarily slide my arms around his torso... 

Shit. Me and my loose hands. Fuck. I don't care... I don't

He stands there motionless as if he didn't expect to receive such tenderness from me but he melts into the touch.

This is the last time I will... touch him, think of him, be with him.

This is the last but I break a little. A little, since I wanted to touch him, right now, right here just because he isn't mine.

He's still holding onto my arms, securing me in place.

Reluctantly, I pull back. His eyes catch mine, unspoken questions clearly shooting to and fro. I just smile. 

His gunmetal eyes still were like bullets in snow and ink- so pure. An air of menace is in his eyes. But the softness.

Eric keeps on talking about this and that but I can't just be focused on the way his lips formed words. The words slide out so gracefully as his moves were...

"Rookie-"

"Don't... call me that, okay?" I snap.

"What can I call you? I want you to be my girlfri-"

"Shut up. Don't... Don't do it again."

"Do what?"

"The bandages, the  _food_ , promising the stars," I whisper. "Don't help me. I... I didn't want to bother you. Okay."

I shuffle away after saying my peace.

I don't get very far, for he holds me tight. He makes me quite nervous, uneasy in a way. In a way that I want to kiss him and... it's like finding a twilight center-stage in the midnight darkness.

"I want you," Eric says. His eyes darken and I can't. I can't even take it anymore. "And I'm sorry... I. I don't know what's wrong with me."

I don't know if he's truthful. He seems fine then he avoids me. He's a mood regulator. It was agonizingly torturous when he just stands there, not looking at me or acknowledging me. When he's being so aloof with me. I can't take it.

I jump up, and burst out. "Eric- that's a lie, okay- that is such a lie because you are a goddamn liar! You fucking say this then you mean this and I don't want to be confused. I am not Erudite, I can't keep up. I can't think around you. You are constantly running around in my mind and I am out of breath, and I can't keep up with you. I can't. I think I don't want to- okay?" I burst out, yelling.

"Rookie-" he shouts loudly. "Why?"

I shove him back. "Because I fucking like you! Alright. Your eyes are a dark galaxy, your piercings looks like the stars and I wouldn't mind dying in your smile. Because it looks like a moon, beautiful and distant and I... I can't feel like I like you."

"Wow." Eric blinks, smiling and wary. It's volatile and odd.

"So, read this truth from my lips, from my face, from my heart, that we can't be what I want to be because I want you so badly and that just won't do." I put my hand on his heartbeat. "I was laying on your chest after tears, and the bullshit that is everyday life, I felt alive. Being around you is- was how I knew I was alive."

But he's looking down at me, looking and I can feel my broken heart pull back together. I wanted to kiss him so badly and feel Eric's face and remember every single detail about him.

But it's wrong.

He pulls down a hand, drawing a line of affection and adoration down my cheek. I've never expected his skin to be soft and unlined.

He settles a thumb on my chin, afraid and hesitant. "I'm sorry..." he cocks his head to the side.

Rage unfurls in me like a dying flower, cribbed and cabined and angry. "That means  _nothing_ -"

"I'm sorry," he says even louder. "I'm sorry for all the shit I've done... I'm self-destruction."

Eric cups my cheek and his hand slides down to my hip, I ignore the pleasure. His hand is a soft pressure on my soul. Where my bandage is.

"So, spare me the trauma and don't do bandages, the  _food_ , promising the stars-"

"I would do it again. Even if you hate me, I'll make sure you are safe. That you had something to eat. That you'd end up on the moon." he smiles.

Eric's looking like the trouble I don't mind getting into. He... He's sleepy-eyed but he's looking at me like he's never been more Candor in his life. Out of the dark mines of sadness, in the light, in the truth.

I hold his wrist. "But... I- don't. You- I don't..." My mind isn't working! I... My lips couldn't be used to speak-...

It's the relentless unforeseen was him- pulling his face closer, him roaming my eyes with accomplishment. The gravity of his lips looks inescapable...

I have nothing else to say, I'm just saying nothing.

Eric stares. "I want you... When I'm tired, in the middle of the night, and you want to throw me out of a window," he shrugs. "I want you... to be safe and happy. Run down long hallways in a mansion. Lie supine and drink lemonade."

I look down and the ambient wind sound in his gray eyes blow through me. "Eric! You confuse me... So much."

Eric cut me off with a kiss. He pulls me close and he's wrapping his body around me. He holds my face in his hands, and he runs his fingers through my hair.

It's like jumping off a cliff into the rain on a windy day into the beautiful ocean. My heart races. A tremendous rush of excitement ends with a splash inside of me. That's where the salt came from.

His toothpaste and minty fresh lips...

I don't have time to be shocked or mad or relieved. He kissed me! His lips brushed over mine. His lips are warm and balmy, almost like these candies that he'd give her during those odd times when .

I've kissed a lot of guys, but my reaction was always as to be expected with him; pure astonishment.

I pull back. "Eric..." I whisper. "Why the hell-"

He leans away and of course, his hands swipes my lip after he kisses my neck and chin. "Christina Doux," Eric hums, his voice was deep and low, making my toes curl. "That's what I'll call you. It leads to happiness."

I shake my head. "Fuck off! I don't trust happiness..." I untangle myself and shake away, with no faith, and get away.

"Don't pull away." he whispers.

"Don't tell me what to do. I'm not your Christina Doux. Excuse me, I've got a dead friend to visit."

* * *

-End Chapter-

I'm sorry for disappearing but like, I forgot this existed. Lol.


	15. Don't Know

**Part 1: Divergent**

* * *

-CHAPTER 15-  
Don't Know

* * *

I told Tris Al died and she ran away. Tris ripped off my arm, my need for support when I latched onto her in earnest and she ran. She looked twitchy and stiff, which is horrible to think, but who does that?

Now I stand here, in a crowd of Dauntless near where Al hurled himself over and I failed him. I am  _staring_ at my failure with a flask in hand. Like that could solve anything.

I'm so clumsy and pained.' How could I catch my liquor in my mouth if I can't even catch a fucking friend?! Fuck me. Maybe I should have just stayed in Eric's den. Then maybe I wouldn't feel like shit. After I told him to fuck off, Eric let me go. Surprisingly.

People are drinking, as per usual, but the atmosphere is  _uneasy and heavy._ Jack Kang used to make us say every good thing the dead person has done when we had Candor funerals.

It was quiet. There was no alcohol, no mixing drinks or subtle alchemy. We were free to say good things. Our mindfulness wouldn't be taken away, only amplified. And hell, people grieved. They weren't on the sorry edge of another party.

I miss Uncle Jack. I wonder what he'd say to me drinking at a funeral. What would Al say, too?

Fuck Al. Why'd he have to die? Why'd he have to attack Tris, too? I feel a cold and icy pain confined to my chest since upon seeing Tris, I hadn't realized I had taken Al's side in death.

I distantly recognize the fact that I am angry with her and Al but Tris moreso. It's morbid but I don't feel like confronting it.

I saw the body. Al. Al is too big, for anything. He didn't fit in the body bag, he didn't fit in Candor and he sure as hell didn't fit in Dauntless. Is life always like this?

A box we can't fit in is life. Everyone tells us to think outside of the box as if the box wasn't safe. As if the box hadn't sheltered us our whole lives. How do people disregard the boundaries and limits the box helped us fix into our brains? How can people start to hate the mundane? Why do people hate the box?

I would love a box, the normal everyone hates. I would want to be so normal, that I would get to brag about normality. I would surrender myself to the normal. I wouldn't be surrounded by pigs with tattoos, septum piercings and wild haircuts in front of a ledge with my best friend lying there like the fish we had last week for dinner.

The stone serves as a perfect plate, Dauntless eats us alive. I wouldn't be drinking out of a flask, too numb to think about anything. I'm warmer, yeah, and looking at Al's body being there, still there, is morbid.

I would love normality. I would adore it. I hear about death so much, I feel like Grim reaper.

Edward might be dead. Tris almost got killed. Drew almost died.  _Al_ is dead. And I hear about so much more. Someone losing an arm. A limb. A fucking eye! Why the hell are there no  _old fucking people_? Everyone has gorgeous hair. No grays. They look so put together when I fall apart.

What is  _Dauntless_? Why does everyone have nice hair, nice jawlines, nice fucking teeth? 

And there is  _Eric,_ his smile looking like a graveyard with his teeth as perfect tombs. He kills me slowly, slowly, too. We don't do much but lay around and  _argue_ but those touches and times have become my  _core_.

And he's the leader of Dauntless. The Alpha. The accurate caricature of everything  _WRONG_ with this place and I bloody kissed him.

And he asked me to be his girlfriend. And Al is dead. Whatever was I thinking when I chose  _Dauntless_? I take another long swig.

The guy, Uriah, is eyeing me. He looks like he wants to  _start_ wrestling over the liquid. Maybe I should hand it over. I won't but it's nice to think that I would. But I won't. I'm going to be so hung-over. Another swig. That shakes me down to my core.

Tris stands uncomfortably, shaking her head at my drinking habits and the boisterous attitude of the flinging crowd. Someone starts playing music and she looks like she'll lose it.

Will is beside me, staring at the side of my face. He's not Eric but I'm trying to see him differently. I'd forgotten that his arm was around me. I didn't want to notice. So, I let the alcohol notice and not me. Not me…

"What are you thinking about Christina?" Will asks into my ear.

All night, Will's eyes are puffy and red. He cried but I don't want to hurt his ego or give him more problems by bringing it up. I shrug and decide to tell the truth. That's one Candor tradition I should keep at funerals.

"How everyone has such nice hair… and a guy in the kitchen is making fish. Fish, William," I laugh but I die a little bit more. "That same chef made me muffins, too."

Will stares at me for a little. "Oh." he shifts. "Why… er, why does that matter, C?"

I wince. "Al and I… can't ever share them again. And he  _loved fish._ Now, he looks like one. Isn't that morbid, William?" I pat his scruffy cheek, to shoot away the confusion and horror. "All we're doing is  _standing_  here. But at least the vodka's good, y'know?"

He opens his mouth and closes it. "C-"

I hold up the flask. "Want some?"

I play with his ear lobe during my words. I shoulder too cheery but why not celebrate. Al is freed from his sadness.

He shifts, and I don't know how much Will's holding me up until we're face to face, his hands on my waist- steadying me… The underside of my arms jostle to rest on his broad shoulders.

Our foreheads accidentally bump together when I look at his left shoe. It's messy and black and undone. Is he crazy? He must be like Al- mildly suicidal and  _wanting to die._

I look at his green eyes, trying to  _be_ serious and firm but that fails so goddamn miserably. I keep on laughing.

"Dude, your shoes are untied. I can't have you trip and  _FALL_ into the chasm…" I pratter, giggling a bit.

Will gives me the sternest look. "That isn't funny."

"Wasn't it? Isn't it? Because our friend's dead and I can't  _see_ him anymore and Al never laced up his shoes- why? Because he was an old man and old men can't reach down to  _tie their shoes._  And uh, uh, I-" I blink and that stops me for a moment.

I want to fan my eyes since they burn, and I don't want to leak all over Will and his shirt because it's so nice. He's so nice.

Oh God, only bad people ignore the nice guys. Am I bad?

My fingers scrabble behind his head and I tease the skin and oncoming sin by playing with his baby hair. It feels like sunshine; weightless and wonderful. I am not weightless and wonderful.

Will's skin is mildly cold. Why? He looks so stressed. I press my thumb under his ear, with the hand that isn't holding a flask is all over him.

Touching someone and thinking about shoes and being drunk adds to the mind. "I… Just I have to laugh? Are you being an old man or are you Al's bad habit of coming to tell me I was too late-"

Will pulls me closer. "We were  _all_  too late-"

"Yeah, but your shoes make me laugh," I burst out with a tempest of giggles. "Now you can run extra fast into the chasm and leave me behind. You came prepared with a punchline, Will- that's priceless!" I simper with a guffaw.

I pull back and Will looks tortured and his green eyes turmoiled by my words.

Oh god. I am joking- fuck !

I lean my head into the crook of his neck. "I. That's not funny. That's not funny. I'm sorry-"

"Christina, you weren't a good friend. You tried to help him more than all of us combined." Will promises honestly.

I can't tear my eyes away. I want to wave my hand, dismissing it. But the flask tips out of my hand and I try to reach down to get it. But Will watches my expression and catches my wrist.

"You did what you could," Will says.

"But he's dead, so obviously not enough!" I yelp my answer back.

Will softens and pulls me in for a hug. "Whenever you try, that is something. Let that be enough."

We hug for a while, Will breathing and being careful. He's so hesitant but he's also holding onto me very tightly, as if I were fading and he was trying to keep me here, not as a ghost. He's also moulding to me and I feel like I am carrying him for once. Being the comfort not the comforted.

I like the switch. It adds a dynamic to myself that I think I ignore; the part when I am strong for someone else in emotional duress. He's only holding me because I was weak… I still have tears on my face and my eyes are basketballs- cold and huge and rubbery. But I was weak and he responded with vulnerability.

It gives me  _hope_? What if being vulnerable really  _is_ another way to be strong? It shows maturity and growth and warmth?

I sway a little, to the song that's in my head. "You're good at that…" I whisper. "Continue, you know?"

"What am I good at?" Will asks, just as quietly, holding me.

"Being there," I whisper. "Be there, with me tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Okay? You must."

"Christina-"

"William! Please, don't die. I don't want to dance alone," I laugh. "Who else would tell me that lipids are the  _gross_ vinegar-feeling-thingy in your bodies?"

Will looks at me for a moment, his eyes doused in amusement and exasperation. He lets out a sigh that was almost a  _laugh_ , it needs more air.

Then he's silent. Just touching me, holding me.

I lean up from being tucked into his curved neck."Why are you so silent?"

We're locked, looking and swaying. It's odd because the sounds of the room become quiet and my heart beats so quickly. I need to hear him say it. I need him not to be so  _calculating_ and logical. I need him to be emotional and honest. Honest in the way he promises, swears that we see this through.

He looks down and holds me closer. "I promise, not to die."

I sigh and thank all things good and natural. "I wouldn't last it if I didn't get to keep  _you_  or  _Tris_. I really wouldn't," I let out an emotional whine. "So, don't pull a fast one and  _end_ up with a bullet or drink yourself off a chasm."

"C, that's morbid."

"Don't get drunk near the chasm, you dunderhead!" I squeeze my arms around him tighter, to display my irritation and anger. Idiot. I fight the urge to smack the back of his head. "Don't do it again!"

"Hey! That was only one time-"

"Who cares, I'm keeping with you and you're stuck with me, so hmmmph. One time is one too many." I huff.

He opens his green eyes, all clear and sincere. "Nah. I wouldn't go out that way. That's so lame."

"You want to go out with an epic death?" My lips twist into a satisfied grimace. "That's awkwardly cool."

"I want trumpets. A speech amongst a huge crowd.  _A drummer_  too. We can't dare forget drummers. I also want the sun to be burning high. The  _whole_  shazam and shebang." his eyes twinkle and I am dazzled.

"You are actually an old man! Who uses those words?" I demand.

"Me!" He nods three times. "And I'll die an old man, Chris. We'll… be senile together. I can't imagine not having a lot of life left then to hear you complain about the pickle jar opening because of your wonky pinky finger always being lazy."

I nod, tears gathering. It takes all of me not to cry. "And you'll paint my nails?"

"Only the prettiest colours." he frowns. "Though black is technically a shade-"

I pull him for a hug. "Shut up, William."  _And never stop talking like that with me…_  I command him never to stop. I'll become a tyrant with how many times I command him never to cease this river of goodness and human kindness.

"Thanks." I press him close to me, and he lets me. He always lets me. Even though I smell like vodka and loose words and funeral tears, he lets me and that's worth keeping. "I know you're still  _caught_ up on my words about lipids."

He's silent then he chuckles and shakes his head. What's he doing, giggling like a schoolgirl about nothing? What goes on in his mind?

"Lipids aren't what I said, probably." I laugh. "Is that why you, a smart-ass, is so cheeky?" I shove his shoulder.

He laughs, for real this time. "No. Not at all." he looks at me consideringly. "You  _do_  have a well-oiled, well-functioning brain, Christina?"

"What?" I demand. I slap his shoulder. "Of course I do!"

"I want you to know that  _you_ can't get another one, if that's your major plan."

I pinch his arm. "Knock it off, jerk. You should have seen the schemes I planned when I was in trouble. I got caught but  _that's_  not the point." I add just so he'd wipe that smirk off of his face.

Fun fact; he doesn't stop laughing. It gets worse.

"You went about it all wrong. That's the point." He leans down, all condescending. "If it were brilliant, you wouldn't have gotten caught."

I roll my eyes, about to continue a long-lost argument but Uriah's hand waves in front of my face.

"Okay, lovely couple, I still want my flask," Uriah says loudly.

I look at Will and step away, me laughing a bit. I still feel like debating more but Uriah seems kind of pissed and I am high off of him saying sweet things.

Will stands, looking for the flask. I say, "We're not a couple-"

"Here's your flask," says William so swiftly and surely, WHILE CUTTING ME OFF.

I give him a dirty side-glance. "Dude, not cool."

"You didn't have to correct him so quickly, Christina." Will rolls his eyes.

"Now what was I  _supposed_  to do?" I ask loudly. "Lie? What would you want me to say?"

He is about to say something but stops when he sees my expression. "Never mind."

He's staring again, so I look away. Oh. I didn't know Tris got here. I'm eyeing her with a slight sadness. Why did Tris have to be attacked? She's still in pain.

Maybe I shouldn't have woken her up and told her the news. It ached for her just to come out of bed. Did she want to know that Al was dead? Does she even care?

She does have reason to.

And I could feel Peter staring at the back of my head. He's trying to get my attention. I won't waste a minute on that idiot. This all feels strange and untrue and it's Peter's and  _Drew's_ fault.

Anger swells in my stomach and heart, I want so much to kick them out. We're waiting to honour Al and those three idiots are here. I hate them so much.

Idiots.

I look over and Uriah offers the flask to Tris. Tris politely declines. Shaking her head.

"Surprise, surprise," says Molly from behind me. She nudges Peter with her elbow. "Once a Stiff, always a Stiff."

Tris gives her a dangerous glance but does not engage with her, instead, she huffs and looks straight ahead.

Then Molly  _starts_ leaning closer to Tris. Molly's fat lips are near Tris's small, scrolled ear. Molly whispers, "I read an interesting article today. Something about your dad, and the real reason you left your old faction."

And Tris looks innocent, and blank-faced when she twists around, hisses through her mouth  _and punches_ Molly. Molly's head goes flying back. And Tris lunges for Molly, not done in her abuse.

Everyone watching, who aren't initiates, aren't astonished by the scene unfolding. They're boisterous and loud. Those who are in my class are shell shocked, jaws dragging on the floor.

Go, Tris! Ha. Ha. HA.  _Fuck you, Molly_.

But Will is the good guy, he pulls the tank away from the war. He holds Molly at bay while staring between the two feuding girls. "Quit it. Both of you," he says sternly.

Molly's brown eyes and Tris's blue ones meet. They're glaring at each other.

Will releases Molly after she shoves him away.

I gave Will a drôle look and frown.  _Why'd Will ruin the fun_? Al wouldn't have stopped the party, he would take bets with me.

Tris sucks on her bottom lip, staring at her red fist. How hard did she hit Molly? Molly moves forward, to retaliate, but a loud song comes through me. It overshadows the loudness of the Dauntless. It's an archaic and imposing sound. One of a gong.

It catches all of our attentions. Besides, Molly's arm is wrenched back by Peter. I give him a haughty stare.

But then I look forward and I look away.

And I see death and life and the moon Eric in front of the crowd. He climbs onto a black box in front of the railing. He seems steady, eyes twinkling like substitute stars. I want to rush over and tell him it's dangerous, I don't want to lose him too.

"Quiet down, everyone!" shouts Eric.

Then, horribly, the gong goes off again. I can't really focus. But the sounds around us eventually stop being so thick and now the mutters are quiet company.

Eric seems appreciative and nods to the crowd. He stands tall and confidently says, "Thank you. As you know, we're here because Albert, an initiate, jumped into the chasm last night."

Dauntless know when to shut up because the quiet company leaves and all that's left are the crashing waves that took Al.

"We do not know why, and it would be easy to mourn the loss of him tonight. But we did not choose a life of ease when we became Dauntless. And the truth of it is…" Eric smiles. "The truth is, Albert is now exploring an unknown, uncertain place. He leaped into vicious waters to get there. Who among us is brave enough to venture into that darkness without knowing what lies beyond it? Albert was not yet one of our members, but we can be assured that he was one of our bravest!"

Eric's eyes are genuine, and this affects him. And he's so sure that these people care too. Is Eric full of shit? Every word he says is bullshit! He's walking into this terrible lie with  _spiders_.

What the fuck? Al wasn't brave! He really wasn't. I grab the flask from Uriah and chug. I have a bone or a skeleton to pick with Eric. I need some liquid and help from Lady Luck!

Then people cheer. It comes from the heart of the crowd and others whoop in agreement.

Is everyone mentally ill? Do they not see what's befalling in Dauntless?

Why are they so loud? Why is Will cheering?!

Tris is the only other SANE person. It's a bit jarring.

All of the fireworks of voices shoot into the air, bright and loud, deep and deep, fill the chasm. Everyone's exploding voices cheer.

I glare at every one of them. Shut up! Shut the  _fuck_  up! I open my mouth but Will sees my rage and opening mouth. Pretending that distance and acquaintanceship do not hold us back, Will slides his arms across my shoulders.

"Just wait, okay? Al would like this celebration." Will says loudly. He cheers.

"We will celebrate him now, and remember him always!" yells Eric. Someone hands him a dark bottle, and he lifts it. "To Albert the Courageous!"

"To Al-bert," is heard and repeated and shouted.

Hands get thrown in the air and I am watching this so closely, the taste in my mouth is bile mixed in with blood with a shred of hopelessness.

Even watching everyone shout Al's name, in this false reality, makes me swallow the booze with a new sense of  _tragedy._ Everyone… everyone… everyone who is chanting his name is fucked. Oh god. A headache settles at the base of my head. Yep. Everyone's fucked and they don't even know… Fuck. Double fuck.

Drew and Peter… fuck campaigning. I will  _exact my revenge_ , after all, that's how I'll get the truth. And I will get what I want this time. It's only the law of nature. I swear.

* * *

After shrugging off Will, avoiding Eric's concrete gazes, and the pleading stares from Peter, I decided that I'm so going to attack  _Drew._ Totally. I scan the cafeteria. Wherever they are, they're fucking with the balance of the universe. Al wouldn't have died if they weren't confusing him.

But my plans get messed up because of 3 things;

1\. I'm drunk.

2\. I roamed the hallways, mildly intoxicated, and I'm  _drunk._  

3\. I roamed the hallways, mildly intoxicated, yelling Drew's and Peter's stupid names. Did I mention I was drunk?

Of course, I would be caught. But I didn't think I would be caught in a stare down with Four. Why him?  _Fuck_!

And, he sees the knife, he sees my expression, and he heard the name leak from my lips.

"What are you doing, Christina?" Four asks loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. My stupidity physically harms him.

"I'm… being a  _good_  citizen of Dauntless. What did you assume I was up to?" I say innocently but I try to hide the sword behind my body but my arm doesn't work. Everything is going badly!

Fuck Uriah, his drinks were fucking strong! Now I have no strength. My arm decides to go on a riot and the blade, the gleaming dagger gets pushed into the open hallway between us.

He stares at the dagger and swallows. "Christina, would you mind explaining this…"

"This… isn't what you think it is?" I wince. "I'm not trying to do anything."

"Why did you steal this from the training room? Why do you steal in general? First the watch and now the dagger."

I have done nothing wrong. So far. In theory, I have but nothing happened. "I misplace things." I shrug nonchalantly.

"And I will put them back in place," Four's eyes shine, black and authoritative. "Do you have any problems with  _that_?"

I swallow. "Yes. In fact. I do." I say. "I damn sure do."

We both eye the blade that's closer to me than him. But I am drunk, moving and buzzing with a light sting. I have to move and it will hurt but this time it means something.

I meet his forlorn gaze. "Newsflash, Four, this is  _Dauntless._ When you got a problem. You fight for it."

He laughs. It's the sandpaper and dry sound that I hate. "You don't know what you're getting into."

I smile lightly. "Well, you never know unless you're brave and jump for it!"

I immediately lunge for the dagger. But Four is faster, he gets to it first and snatches it away. He got on his knees, so I whip my wrist and aim for a bash on the temple. He ducks away from my punch and flinches away from my hits. He stands and I kick his knee, avoiding getting pummeled. He catches my sides, and walks around most of my attacks.

All my lashes are stupidly uncoordinated and they don't make it to him. I like to think that I would have gotten the dagger but I had the balance and gross motor functions of a newborn. Damn alcohol.

Damn him.

Four forcefully pushes me back, since I'm growling like a damn dog and reaching for the dagger.

"You don't get to take this away from me, Four!" I scream at him. "Let me have what I want."

"Christina, stop!" He gives me a condescending look.

He stabs the knife into the wall when I fight for it. My elbows are wet with bandages, my ribs shift and pop but I will do this! Fuck all of this.

"Don't be reckless, Christina! I know what you're trying to do and it won't work." Four hisses into my ear.

He's grabbing my waist but I twist away. I throw a punch but he dodges it. Damn it. He grabs my wrist, twirls me around and hooks it uncomfortably behind my back. It burns.

I shake my head. "Don't  _fucking_  tell me what to do! My choices don't matter to you!"

He lets go of me after letting me calm down. But I am annoyingly persistent. I try to run around him. I don't need  _my_ knife, I only need to have some sort of will power and fist. I just need to get around him so I can continue my search.

Fuck the knife! I could get another one or a butterknife! Ha! Karma.

But Four isn't letting me go. He's persistent too. My chest heaves and I glare at him. "Move! Four, I swear to God if you don't move-"

"Hush," Four cuts me off with holding up his right hand. "I won't let you do what you know is  _stupid_ and parallels with stupidity beyond measures!" Four side-steps in front of me.

"What I know and you know are different! Completely different!" I exclaim loudly. I don't care if my voice echoes.

"Oh. Really?" asks Four, voice dripping with sarcasm.

I scrub my hair away from my eyes. "God, won't you stop being a dick! All you guys do is pretend you care then you promise the moon! Ugh! I'm sick of this. You care then you hurl me or yourselves over the ledge! I'm sick of it." I yell.

He sets his jaw and looks down. "Christina…"

"From you to Lauren, to  _Eric_ and Beckham, my hairdresser, none of you seem to  _care_ about any of us! You all pretend to know what's going on and how we feel but it's almost as if you guys are robots! And we say that  _Erudite's are bad._ And unfeeling!" I shout. I'm using every inch of me to be furious. "You guys haven't dealt with this level of debauchery and  _foolishness_ because your superiors were good and just and guess what, they gave two shits about you! So, don't change up your character now and decide to step in and be ANYTHING but absent."

His eyes are dark and he seems to be physically restraining himself. "That's not true."

The silence is almost a physical weight between us.

My cheeks burn, and my skin around my fist is tight. "How is it not? Al's  _dead_. Edward's eye is gone. Drew got beat up. Peter attacked Tris and Tris almost dead. And where were you guys? You almighty doors between death and life, wrong and right, hurt and happiness? Huh? You guys were nowhere!"

Four sighs. "You don't know that."

"I know that nothing happens to those who do bad things! Drew is walking around."

"Drew was…" Four pauses loftily, "taken care of."

"Bullshit! Nothing beat up his personality. He isn't cleansed. He's worse." I spit in his direction. "Nothing happens."

"You don't know that," Four says again, in that low tone with his eyes low and his fists low. Are his balls on the ground too? What will it take to make him see the truth? What will change his fucking mind?

I just need… I just need my knife.

"You don't know me. You don't care at all! My well being, my life isn't your responsibility. Don't give me any bullshit!" I yell.

"Al's dead. Don't try to add one more death! Did you see what his face was like?" Four demands.

I jerk back and I feel a sharp pain. "Don't talk about Al," I yell. "I don't want his name in your mouth!"

"And why can't I say it, huh?" Four's eyes shine dangerously as I challenge him. Happily.

"I might have been drunk off of my ass, but my vision wasn't swimming and I'm not fucking dumb. You weren't even at the makeshift  _funeral_. You and Tris both! Don't feign that you care about my grief!"

He doesn't deny it. He watches me hold my rocking elbows so I wouldn't fall over.

"What will attacking Peter or Drew do for you?" Four demands heatedly instead of confirming anything, narrowing my suspicions.

"It will avenge Al! They did this to him! They did it!" I say loudly.

Four gives me a wry smile, shaking his head. "You have to find peace in death, or else you'll never be happy in Dauntless or even further than that,  _life_."

"Fuck off!"

I can't stand straight. I lean against the wall. All this running and dodging made something in my stomach roll. My belly and my bladder feel so weird. Shifting sucks. I'm jelly, unstable and sinking against the wall.

Agh. Fuck this.

"Why did you want to attack them with a knife?" Four asks.

"I know a knife. I'm a little Erudite since I get so scared of what I can't understand," I shake my head.

He sighs a little. He doesn't speak for a long time as I stare at the rocks near the wall. My chest feels uneasy. Filled with unrest. Monkeys are fighting in my chest. In my heart, squeezing it.

"Everything hurts and I want to hurt Drew and Peter. I want them to feel the way I feel. Aren't I horrible?" I whisper. "I feel so guilty." I keep on talking, for some reason.

He sighs and shakes his head. "Use your guilt as a tool to do a better job in life. Next time."

He did some horrible stuff and now. Now I can't even talk to Al about it. I couldn't talk him out of it, what kind of what was I? I bury my hands in my face.

"Al was the only who I talked to. The many miles it takes to take his words out, I didn't count," I shake my head. My eyes sting. Why? Why?

"What about Tris?" he asks casually, with a hint of concern filling his voice.

I give him a small smile. "Nothing. Some people just can't be rocks."

Four shrugs like he doesn't know what to say. "It's hard to lose those you confide in," Four wrinkles his nose in unconscious distaste. "Despite how awful they were, some serve others well."

That's probably the nicest thing he'll ever say to Al. Or about him.

I nod. "Thanks. It is."

I can finally hear my thoughts without slurs and splinters and a headache. Four seems like he's waiting. I know why. He knows that I haven't said the full truth. How he knows, beats me, but he does and I can't help but stare at my fingers. He's drifting and I'm drifting. He's over a ledge and I'm not.I can't catch a friend. Damn me.

"Huh?" Four says, questioning.

I look at him. I said that out loud? Shit. There's no way I could deny him, anyway. He's staring at me, the slight curl of interest in the darkness of his eyes.

"I was right there… I could have helped him. My fingers are useless. I can't even catch a friend. He was almost in my grip then he was gone." I flex my hands. "What good are Dauntless if we can't  _guard_ those from death, and save them? Stupid Drew and Peter and Molly. Why are you defending those idiots?" I demand, staring at Four. "You beat up Drew. You also dislike Al, why protect them from me and my knife?"

He shifts. "Honestly, because they should learn how their actions affect others. They should learn that their actions have consequences, no matter which path they go down, matter how undignified and untrue."

"So. You didn't beat into them? Not even to  _offer_  revenge?" I ask loudly, wincing.

There's a tension pulling on his face. "Justice and revenge aren't the same. Revenge makes you feel better, it's for yourself. Justice brings harmony. Dauntless are all but confused on that last one." he shakes his head. "All too often."

Four's grim way of speaking makes me have a soft spot for him. It's like taking off sunglasses in a dark room. I see him better. Justice is harmony. Revenge is selfish. And I can't ignore the high, good feelings that consume me since  _I'm still_ investigating why I want to hit them all so bad. The high is all around me, in my head, leaving me dead.

I laugh. "That doesn't help me,  _whatsoever_. Al is dead. He's the bad guy and I want to punch you, Drew and Peter in the face." My laugh dies off into bitterness. "Really hard."

My fist clenches up. Really hard. Over and over. Fuck.

"The face?" Four asks. The expression and tone of voice he uses make me feel lighter. "Why the face?"

"Guys only care about their hair and foreheads." I say silently.

"Why those things?" he asks casually like he was  _almost_ interested.

"It's the only thing girls want to touch," I roll my eyes. "Obviously."

He shakes his head, pure bemusement on his face mixed in with annoyance. "I still can't deny that you stopped  _something_ really great or really dumb." I sigh.

"They should get punished," Four starts saying. Suggestively.

I light up.

"...but that's not our role," Four announces firmly when he sees the joy on my face.

I sigh, swaying, since my legs scream. He's no fun. My legs were in a crouching position for about ten minutes, in between the hollow silences between us.

I sit.

Meanwhile, Four digs something out of his deep pockets. Guys' pockets could hold a few thousand galaxies! It's so unfair. Then he pulls out a lighter. Judging by the bulk in his pocket, there are cigarettes. That leaves me speechless. He doesn't look to be the type to use cigarettes.

It makes me wonder if I'd ever be this free with Eric. Even if I can't touch him, even if I'm not his Christina Doux. I smile a little. I wonder if I'd look into his eyes, those double mirrors. Would he hold me? I want to argue with Eric, at least… he'd kiss my cheek and hold me.

And I'd smoke his eyes all day.

"You're offering me a smoke?" I ask lightly. I didn't know that he wants to get at… "That's un-teacher-like. And not to mention dangerous."  _And I want Eric's smoke_ , I don't add.

Four tosses the lighter over to me. It's small, compact and dark. It has black marks near where the flame is. A testament to how much it's used.

"What? No smokes?" I ask lightly. I'm so unsure of this.

He shakes his head. "Just light it up."

I light it. It takes effort, as if there was resistance. I have to work for it. I give a frown to Four. "How's this going to make me not want to hurt you?"

"Whenever I am annoyed, angry, or irritated, I light that up. Not for a smoke. Just to get rid of something. To cleanse myself. To stop myself from going too far," he says, and a little rush of concern plagues me for a moment.

"When… you get angry… most people light up the cigarette? They put the feel good on their lips and smoke," I shake my head. I look at him.  _Why not him_?

"I'm not like most people," Four shrugs. "I don't give into the normal vices. This is clean. This is accessible. And it… unlock the misery. Burn all the thoughts that cause you harm or others harm."

"Does it work?" I ask quietly. It's stupid. It's poetic but stupid.

He looks at me. "On select few," he shrugs. "It's more like burning your demons, and your irritation is the fuel." He stands beside me. "It's a coping mechanism. You need it when you are here."

I laugh. "There are other coping mechanisms. Drinking. Partying. Girls. Dancing." 

"Those  _don't_ help. Dauntless are social and destructive. Drinking. Fighting. Girls. That's Dauntless lifestyle."

"Why haven't I seen you with that lighter?" I say. Does he never get angry?

"I would be using it every three seconds," Four says smoothly, almost like silk.

I laugh. "You're an angry man."

He crosses his arms, and I didn't see how stiff it got him. "There is a lot to be angry about. There is a lot  _to_ burn." he amends slowly.

I smile but it reminds me of Al. And I'm still crying. Fuck. Fuck… His last words come through me and I… I throw back the lighter. He catches it with an unspoken question on his face.

"This won't help, but sidenote… baths and pools are ruined for me," I shake my head.

"Why?" he queries.

"Now that the trauma has worn off, I remember what Al said before jumping. And dying," I ignore the tears that are falling freely. "He said, " _Come with me, I promise, the water is fine. I need something else to convince me I won't die._ " and I couldn't. I, I couldn't catch him. You caught my hands before  _Drew_ and Peter got hurt, and my bad thoughts caught my hands. Why the hell haven't I caught  _Al_  before the drama?" I wipe away the tears. "Ignore my tears. I'm not a damsel in distress."

Four gives me a shrug. "I didn't think so."

He shifts then settles beside me, a hard weight beside me. Four wordlessly offers me the lighter. It says  _Clipper_ on the side. It's black, plastic feeling and a simple lighter.

"Fire evaporates the tears. Burn the bad thoughts." Four instructs. "That's all."

I shake my head. Hesitant. But he looks so confident and genuine. I'm still angry at him for not letting me ruin Drew but I take the lighter. I can try, I need something to pass the time.

"Burn away," he says lightly.

Burn bad thoughts. Evaporate the tears. That's simple enough. I palm the lighter, the small box, spinning it into infinity. We sit in silence, the heart beats telling me the time. I try to be empty. Being empty is hard. Eventually, my bad thoughts come. I can't even deny them.

My eyes drift closed. What if I die here? There are all these incidents and accidents and no one is safe.

_Al, you bloody motherfucking asshole._

_Al, why'd you take your life outta mine?_

_Al, you left me with the shitty world._

_Al, you SHITTY PERSON!_

_AL, YOU KNEW HOW AWFUL, AND SHITTY THIS PLACE IS AND YOU LEFT ME BEHIND-_

I didn't realize the throbbing of my finger until I look down and my thumb is red, almost bloody, and irritated. My eyes feel like sandpaper. My hand feels like sandpaper.

His hand closes over my own. He's stopping me from hurting myself. He shakes his head. "Enough," commands Four. "Evaporate your tears. Not your thumb."

I take a deep breath. I wait for the poison and oxygen to lift my diaphragm. I hold it there until my chest feels like it's going to explode.

"I'm fine," I grit out, barking it to Four.

He gives me an incredulous look. "You sure?"

I give him a sure nod. "It's okay."

I try to light the lighter but he claps my hands. He's completely unconvinced. "You need a minute?" he tells me. Well, he asked it like a question but it was more of a demand.

But he's right, so, I nod. Ten minutes pass and he's still there. I try again. I think about all the bad thoughts. It hurts. A lot.

_Al, I will hit you so hard!_

_Al, I'll make you chopped liv-_

It hurts when I light up my thoughts.

I flinch and shake away that thought. All of my anger is still there. All of my hurt is still there. All the things I would say, breaking that barrier. Then I pause again and look at the ceiling. Teads gather and dance across my cheek. 62 miles, huh. Will he take care of himself? Will he be okay?

I look at the flickers of the flame. It illuminates the fragile nature of life itself. Does Al know how mad I am at him? Each time I light it up, my bones feel closer to the lighter than my skin. I'm all nervous and angry and sad.

I breathe steadily.

_Al, I hope you're fine. But you really fucked me up, did you know that? I'm a slutty, snotty mess and I'm not crying at what happened… I'm crying because of everything wrong with me. Al, that's ALL you!_

I pause and sigh. Getting all riled up won't help. Honesty leads to peace, yeah, Mom would say.

_I wanted to drive you around the wasted landscape, kill time, kill Drew and Peter… Well, not kill but you know, mess them up so they couldn't walk. I wanted to be on your side, even when you're a deadbeat. A fucking deadbeat you are, Al._

I sigh, watching my anger burn and exude its small flame.

_I really can't deny I hate you, you know. Attacking Tris. Fucking me up. Ruining pools… I'm talking to everyone Tris and we go on and on. I haven't spoken to you. And you're dead. Is it really talking? I feel ignored either way. Suicide. You're making me weak as a person. I'm having trouble catching life since I couldn't catch you and you're dead…_

I pause. The realization is clear. The hot, white fury that pauses through me and stabs my heart is so real. It's almost as if someone -Al- is with me, hurting me.

_Fuck you, man. I hate you._

I glare at the flame. I watched him leave. He ran. He's weak. I didn't even get to decide if he was good or bad. Now he's dead. And a permanent mark.

Four peers at me, no judgment on his face. Then he looks away.

_Al… I hate that you let up and you didn't stay here. Will really likes me. God, it feels weird talking to you like this. Conversations have been one-sided but this is a bit much. Too much. Tris and Four have this weird thing going on and Eric wasn't eye-fucking me. I'm sorry I was such a bitch. But you were being rude. Uh, I don't mind if you want to go to hell, heaven… but I think you'll be good there. I won't save seats for you. I'll eat a bunch of muffins here. For you. I'll even hit up Zeke and know if he had a boyfriend or if your boner for computers was actually the real deal. Meet me… on the moon. That's our next meeting place._

"What did you think about?" Four asks me after I drop my throbbing hand.

My hand vibrates with pain, an acknowledgement of everything I said. I can't believe I did that. I feel lesser. The crippling doubt and anger hasn't left.

The fire did evaporate the tears. Or I've been here for too long. Probably the latter. Thorns twist in my side. It hurts. Why am I even waiting for Al to come back? He can't.

I slowly sober up, too. That's a sign of the times. The blue light emitted through the hallway doesn't change. However, Four's whole disposition alters slowly. It's artistic and abstract. Four's been still the entire time. His eyes are half-closed, almost as if he doesn't know that I am here.

"Did you notice how reliving a moment can physically cause harm? I'm so far from what I had then…" I say.

Four frowns, but he somewhat gets it. Everyone knows the feeling of loss. It's a second heartbeat for me. A second one.

I thought of it all. But to narrow it down… hm. "Grudges. Tattoos. Fast cars. Plastic chairs. Long dinners," I say quietly, watching the flame burn. "I'm happy he's not sad, but very, very jealous."

I expect him to shout " _Bloody murder!"_ or say, " _Oh the humanity_ ," but he doesn't. Like some plant or sponge, he takes it all.

He nods. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It's quite selfish. Death is a selfish deed; it takes a lot and gives nothing. It costs you everything. But you have to find peace in that simple knowledge that they are at peace. That forgiveness is admist the both of you. You have to work with them, even after that selfishness, and serve them by helping yourself let go. You have to be brave enough to let it happen." he says loudly. "Al wasn't being brave, either." Four adds after checking my face three times.

I slouch. "Eric's so full of shit." I get flashes of the speech. So annoying and full of shit.

I expect Four to shoot me down, and say I'm being disrespectful, but he doesn't. He shocks me once again.

He nods. "I understand."

"In conclusion of this all, Al's soul could use the rest on the moon." I sigh. 

He nods again. 

I zip up my lips. It feels like I'm free. Like Al is free. Then I'm free-falling. And oh, yeah. I'm venting so hard, but Four is here, for God knows how long and watching me mindlessly light the match. If anything, I know how important it is to offer release, a sharp catharsis.

"Just to inform you, this-" I gesture to us, the knife in the wall, and the way we're both sitting. "-didn't happen."

"Really?" he looks dismayed. "I thought I could use this very situation for bragging rights."

"I wouldn't want anyone thinking you cared, no. Since that's what instructors normally avoid; the whole caring business. Bad mojo." I roll my eyes. I finally get serious. I give him a tight look. "I hate being the damsel in distress. I hate crying in front of people. I don't want to be some weak Dauntless girl. There are only three of us. I have to represent."

Four looks at me. "Learned helplessness is a cloak of power at times. It's the honest way to go the next couple of weeks."

"I'm not for learned helplessness. I want to be instinctively kickass." I say. "Besides, who would take a girl out to drinks if they can't nunchuck their way out of awkward bar talk!"

"Because everyone needs to learn how to use nunchucks," he comments slyly.

I offer a small sound of happiness. A laugh. Then, grief catches me and I fall into heavy questions. Why am I laughing, the sound rising out of me like a forgotten melody when Al can't even laugh anymore? How long has he been incapable of happiness? Is he good now?

I ignore it and hand him the lighter.

"Are you angry about anything?" I demand quietly. I feel selfish. I'm the only one reclaiming my power by letting go of some anger. Everything bad is taking too long to bare… even admit to myself.

He grunts his agitated response; "Is that even a question?"

I shake my head. I hand him the lighter. "Burn away." I quote back to him.

I stare at his illuminated form, hunched over and concentrated on his rage. I've never thought about how he leans towards simplicity, almost like an Abnegation boy.

Four and I silently shuffle the black lighter between the two of us. It's calming. It makes lifting my grief difficult. It makes it oscillate between instant hate and instant tenderness. It's like,  _Fuck you, Al. But rest in peace. I'll miss you. A lot._

The lighter doesn't matter, its oil doesn't run out. Besides, our thumbs are on fire, and It doesn't help much. But that small fraction is worth more than the world itself.

That unsure flame of anger will have a glow, forever, until I know what to do and how to blow it out. For now… it's a lantern of nostalgia and hate. And that can't be too bad.

* * *

-End Chapter-


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